Common Grounds
by couchbarnacle
Summary: John Watson is working at Holmes Manor for the summer and is caught up in the whirlwind that is Sherlock Holmes. Teen AU. Eventual M/M
1. Chapter 1

**Teen AU! It will be mostly John for the first couple chapters but have no fear! Sherlock won't be far off.**

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"John," His mother called softly. "It's time to get up."

John Watson curled more tightly into the wall next to his bed and tried to stifle his mother's voice. Normally, he loved hearing the happy cadence and love-infused voice flowing over him, but today he wanted none of it. He just wanted to fall back into himself and go numb.

"Come on, John." She said lightly. "It's been two weeks. You have to get back to school."

"But, Mum…" He grumbled still facing the wall.

"No buts, honey." She said, pulling the duvet off him and onto the floor. "You're the man of the house now. You have to be strong for your sister."

John pressed tighter against the wall and felt the subtle warmth of anger settle in his gut. He'd been feeling that more and more these days. He couldn't shake free from the emotions cloying at his mind. But, for his Mum, he would push it down, pack it away, and do as she asked. It wasn't her fault after all.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling as his mother leaned over him to place a soft kiss onto his temple. "That's my good man."

She exited the room quickly and John heaved himself off the bed to get ready for school. He wanted desperately to take a shower but time wouldn't allow for it, so he went to his bureau and picked out a pair of faded jeans that were too short even for his small stature and heavy jumper. Donning them quickly after taking care of his morning ablutions, he made his way slowly down the rickety staircase to the kitchen where his older sister, Harry, was just finishing up her breakfast.

"I don't want you even talking to me today." Harry said meanly.

"Harriet!" His Mum admonished to the back of his sister's head as she stalked out of the house and began walking the few short blocks leaving John behind. "I'm sorry, honey. You know how she is, though. She's just such a passionate person and this whole thing…well, she's sensitive."

"It's fine, Mum." John lied easily. "I better get going."

"Here," She said, handing him an apple. "Would you like me to drive you to school?"

"No." He said heavily. "I'll be fine."

"It'll be fine." She said holding the door open for him. "I bet everyone is looking forward to seeing you. All of your friends."

John smiled in response but felt something twist painfully around his heart. He left the house and made it to school just as the first bell rang. He maneuvered around the hordes of students surrounding him and kept his head down to avoid the stares from his classmates. He entered the school office quietly and collapsed onto a chair to wait to be called into the counselor's office.

"Hello, John." She said with a smile. "My name is Ella. Would you follow me, please?"

John heaved himself up slowly from the chair and trailed after her through a beehive of offices before being motioned into a brightly decorated office with prayer flags and robins covering every available space. He perched on the edge of a lumpy couch as Ella settled down in a chair across from him.

"Welcome back, John." Ella began.

John's only response was a tight-lipped smile and to let his eyes focus on anything other than that piteous look on the counselor's face.

"Tell me how you're feeling." She said after receiving no verbal prompt from the boy in front of her.

"I'm fine." He said quietly.

"John," She said. "I'm here to help you. It's not an easy transition and we want to help as much as we can, but if you won't be honest, we can't be effective."

"Just tell me what I'm supposed to say so I can get out of here." He said, his anger fraying his self-control for a second before subsiding. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. Sorry."

"John," She said. "It's okay to be angry. You and I have another fifty minutes in our session. Let's talk about it."

"I really would rather not." He said feeling a lump form in his throat.

"Tell me about your physical therapy." She said, switching topics. "Your limp doesn't seem so bad."

"Right." He says firmly before staggering to his feet and using his cane to limp quickly out the door. He hobbled back through the office and out the doors of the school. He began walking in the opposite direction of his house. He knew that the school would call his Mum and tell her that he was delinquent and he knew that she would worry, but he just needed air. He just needed more time. Just needed to be alone. He walked as far as he could until his leg began buckling beneath him.

He stumbled to the park across the road and collapsed onto a bench. He settled his wounded thigh on the bench next to him and fought back the rising panic attack that was beginning to cut off his oxygen supply. He reached into his bag and pulled out his bottle of pain pills and a bottle of water with shaking hands. Popping two pills into his mouth and chasing them down with the entire bottle of water, he tried to start the progressive relaxation technique his other therapist had taught him to fight against the anxiety that had been plaguing him since he woke up in the hospital. He let his eyes close as he began regulating his breathing and curling and uncurling his toes in his battered trainers. He worked slowly taking the time to work through each muscle group thoroughly. He was just about to start on his shoulders when he felt a cold nose against his ankle causing him to jerk in surprise and open his eyes.

"Sorry about him." An older woman said pulling the terrier back from John and clipping its leash back on. "He loves people and can't be bothered to come when he's called."

"That's alright." John said leaning over to scratch at the dog's ears. "What's his name?"

"I'm not even joking when I tell you, dearie, that his name is Metacarpal." She said with a cheeky grin and a roll of her eyes. "But I call him Met, for short."

"He's not yours, then?" John asks.

"Not really, no." She said with a smile before settling on the bench next to him. "I'm just his owner's housekeeper, but this little one demands a walk every day and I can't say that I blame him, not when the weather's this nice."

"It is rather nice today." He said searching for something else to say.

"Fancy a cuppa?" She asked with that grin again.

"Love to." He said feeling strangely happy at the thought.

"I'm Mrs. Hudson, dearie." She said holding out her hand.

"John Watson." He said taking it firmly and smiling in return.

"Shall we be off then?" She said rising slowly and placing a hand on her hip. "Sorry. I move a bit slowly. I have this blasted hip that keeps going out on me."

"That's fine." He said standing also. "I can't say that I move really quickly either."

"We're a pair, then." She answers before turning down a winding path away from the school. "Come along, John. There's a lovely little place just up the road."

They walked slowly and chatted animatedly for several minutes before coming to a little café two blocks from the park. Strangely enough, they had very similar taste in daytime television and spoke happily on that subject the entire, slow journey. Mrs. Hudson had John hold onto Met while she went and ordered some tea and biscuits for them inside and waved John's offer of a few quid away magnanimously before shuffling off. She returned soon after being followed by a young man bearing a tray with their order. They both tucked in and continued their conversation happily.

"So, what do you want to be when you grow up, John?" She asked sipping her tea and watching the clouds float by overhead.

"I can honestly say that I have no idea." He said sighing. "Why do people expect fifteen year olds to know the answer to that question?"

"I think the question is less about the answer and more about living vicariously through the young." She said with a smile. "We have such high expectations for you young things. We expect you to shine because we can see all the potential there and we miss it terribly."

"So, what is the proper response to that question then?" He asks curiously.

"I don't know if there is only one response, dearie." She said. "But I like to think the only true answer is 'everything'."

"Then that's my answer." He said taking another sip of his tea. "I want to experience everything."

They continued talking for another hour or so before John looked at the time, "Sorry. I didn't mean to keep you this long."

"Whatever do you mean?" She asked.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" He asked.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" She answered cheekily.

"Touche." He replied.

"My employers are quite the eccentric bunch." She explained away with a wave. "I do my job and that's that. They don't worry too much about proper hours and have actually shuffled me out of their house if they need 'room to think' or whatever that means. With an employer like that, I am free to schedule the housework around my life and not the other way round."

"That doesn't sound too bad." He answered thoughtfully.

"And the hazard pay is quite generous as well." She said cryptically. "And what about you? I'm very sure that schools are quite strict on start and stop times."

"Yeah." He said. "I just needed to get away for a bit."

"Well, don't tell any respectable adult I said this," She said with a grin. "But I'm glad you did. I never get this sort of amiable conversation on most days."

John smiled back openly and leaned back into the chair trying to ignore the ache in his leg.

"I do think you have a point though, dearie." She sighed. "I should get you back to school."

He groaned loudly and ran his hands roughly over his eyes. "Do I have to?"

"It's like ripping off a plaster." Mrs. Hudson said rising to her feet. "The quicker, the better. I have a car. Come along, John. I'll drive you."

John felt the weight that had disappeared during his morning with Mrs. Hudson settle firmly back onto his shoulders as he hobbled after the woman to her car. He was quiet the entire drive back. She pulled up about a block away and stopped him before he climbed out of the car, "I hope you're not too upset, but I took the liberty of calling ahead and letting them know that you were okay when I went to place our order."

"How could you possibly know the number of my school?" John asked curiously.

She chuckled softly before continuing, "I practically had them on speed dial. My employer's youngest son, same age as you dear but two grades ahead, was enrolled there for about two months before his parents placed him elsewhere. I used to get multiple calls a day about him. He's quite the handful."

"Sounds like it." He said impressed. "Thanks for this morning, Mrs. Hudson."

"Anytime, dearie." She said. "Except not when you're meant to be in class, I'll forgive you this once but you're too clever to not be getting good marks, John. I often walk Met on the weekends about the same time if you ever want to have tea again."

"Sounds lovely." He said with a grin. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye." She said.

He felt something warm settle against his skin as he realized that she was going to wait until he got into the building before pulling away. It was surprisingly touching.


	2. Chapter 2

**More back story for John! And no, I don't feel bad at all for shamelessly using all of the other characters from the show as well. I REGRET NOTHING! Enjoy!**

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He exited the office after a twenty minute lecture from the truancy officer regarding his abrupt exit. He kept his gaze straight ahead and avoided the pitying looks from the surrounding office workers before hobbling back to his classroom. It was lunch period now, but he wasn't at all hungry mostly due to the nausea that had settled heavily in his gut the moment he stepped back through those doors. He walked through the empty halls quickly before going to his locker, switching out his texts, and hobbling toward his fourth period class. He walked into the classroom and almost fell into his regular seat before the teacher even raised his head.

"We're working on logarithms, John." Mr. Dimmock said evenly. "Chapter Seven if you want to have a quick look before the lesson begins."

"Right." John replied. "Thanks."

"Good to have you back, John." Mr. Dimmock said again before glancing back over at his monitor and promptly ignoring John for the next twenty minutes. John had never been more grateful for anything in his entire life.

He kept his head down as students began to file into the room. He knew them all, of course. Most of them had been in the same classes with him since primary school. He had played football with them, gone to see films with them, went to camp with them, but now? He could feel the whispered gossip skittering across his skin like tiny, poisonous spiders. He hunched down even farther and tried to avoid the open desk three rows up and five to the right. He felt someone clap his hand lightly on his shoulder and glanced over to see Greg Lestrade slide into the seat beside him.

"Alright?" Lestrade asked with a grin.

"Alright." John answered back. "You?"

"Manchester United was bloody awful this weekend." Lestrade said with a grimace.

At that second, Mr. Dimmock began the lesson and John immersed himself in the information.

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"John," His Mum scolded gently. "I was worried sick."

"Sorry." He said staring down at his scuffed trainers. "I just…needed to get out of there."

"Sweetie," She said. "If you were that uncomfortable, then you should have come straight home. Instead, you wandered around town for hours. What if something had happened?"

He heard the choked up noise his mother made and knew that if he looked at her, she'd have tears in his eyes. Great, he was now making his mother cry. Guilt swallowed him whole as his body deflated and he leaned more heavily against the cane.

"I'm really sorry." He said.

"I know that this is hard, John." She continued. "It's hard on everyone, but you have to be strong. You're the man of the house now."

"I know." He said quietly.

"Do you have homework?" She asked feebly.

"Not much." He answered. "I was going to have a shower first."

"Alright." She said. "Do you need any help with the bandages?"

"No," He said. "I'll be fine."

"I'm going out with the girls later tonight and Harry is out as well." His Mum said. "There are some leftovers in the fridge."

"Okay." He answered. "Have a good time tonight, Mum."

"Thanks, John." She said.

He turned and made his way slowly up the stairs. Grabbing some clean clothes, he went to have a shower and let it wash away the tension that had eased into his muscles over the rest of the school day. He sat on the edge of the tub to take off his jeans and eyed the bandage with distaste. Whenever he looked at the stupid thing, it always seemed bigger than the last time he saw it. All of his other scraps and bruises were almost gone. He still had that bigger cut on the side of his cheek that was red and noticeable, not to mention the bruises from his ribs, but he could forget about those relatively easily. The leg, however, was not so forgiving.

He sighed heavily and reached for the saran wrap in the cupboard. He gingerly wrapped the bandages tightly and clenched his jaw to try to combat the sparks of pain that exploded out from the laceration. He grabbed the painter's tape and deftly wrapped it around the edges of the cling wrap to keep out water. He was sweating and shaking with pain when his task was finally accomplished. He took a few deep breaths before shucking the rest of his clothing and turning on the tap. He washed quickly and sat back down on the toilet to put a new bandage on his thigh.

He discarded the tape and wrap easily and took a deep breath before peeling away the duoderm dressing. His breath hitched as he stared down at the jagged, sutured cut that ran from his inner thigh to a few inches above his knee. The doctor kept calling John lucky. If the shrapnel from the car had hit just a few inches to the right, he would have bled out and died in that wreck with his father. He worked on the wound with shaky hands and fought against the memories trying to steal his attention. He swallowed two more pain pills before placing a new duoderm dressing on his thigh and getting changed into his pajamas bottoms and t-shirt.

He grimaced as he wobbled unsteadily down the stairs and into the living room waiting impatiently for the pain meds to seep into his system and carry away the ache. He curled up on the couch and drifted off to sleep.

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"_John," His dad slurred. "Get in the car."_

"_Dad," John stared dumbfounded. "Are you drunk?"_

"_Get in the fucking car," His dad said again. _

"_Dad…" John said hesitantly._

"_John," His dad said raising his voice. "This stupid exte-exta-extracurricular thing was your idea. You should be lucky that I am even out here to pick you up this late. Now get in the fucking car or I am leaving your ass here to walk home."_

"_I don't think…" John tried one more time._

"_NOW!" John's dad bellowed causing John to jump in shock and slide into the passenger seat buckling his seatbelt._

_John clung to the dashboard as his father sped through town. His heart jumped into his chest as they careened around corners. They were five block from their house when it happened. His father completely ignored the red light and slammed into the side of another vehicle. John hit his head on the dash and promptly fell into unconsciousness._

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"Oi!" A voice called breaking into his sleep. "Wake up."

John jerked awake, his eyes flying open to land on Lestrade holding a pizza box.

"Thought you might want to watch the game?" He said with a shrug.

"Making liberal use of the hidden house key, I see." John grumbled but smiled when he smelled the pizza.

"Budge over." Lestrade said as he set the box on the coffee table and turned on the telly. John rose unsteadily and hobbled into the kitchen to get a couple of sodas.

They sat in companionable almost-silence eating pizza and occasionally commenting on the game. During half-time, Lestrade spoke about something other than football for the first time in nearly an hour without taking his eyes off the screen, "It won't last long, John. They'll get over it soon enough."

"What did you hear?" John asked adapting the same 'don't look away from the screen' pose.

"Oliver is just hurting." Lestrade answered. "Sarah meant a lot to him. But he shouldn't have said what he did."

"It's true though." John answered deadpan. "My dad was a fucking drunk."

"How long do you have to use the cane?" Lestrade asked changing the subject.

"It just depends on how well my muscle knits back together." John answered. "It shouldn't be more than a month though."

"Good." Lestrade said. "We need you back on the team. Anderson is literally the worst player in the history of rugby."

"I don't doubt that in the slightest." John said with a grin. "Did you do the Literature reading yet?"

"I don't think Mrs. Turner will ever convince me to appreciate Hemingway, no matter how many sodding books of his we have to choke down." Lestrade growled.

"I'll take that as a no, then." John answered.

"It's just about as useful as Latin." Lestrade said. "So, your sister graduates this spring? What are her plans?"

"What part of 'prefers vagina' do you not understand, you poor sod?" John asks, chucking a pillow at his friend.

Lestrade smacks him with another pillow and they spend the rest of the evening bullshitting until Lestrade's dad comes to collect him with a put-upon sigh. Lestrade is bollocks at remembering that is curfew is in fact 10pm.

"Meet you in the morning to walk to school?" Lestrade asks as his dad ruffles his hair.

"Sounds good." John said. "See you then."

John hobbles upstairs to collapse onto his bed. He doesn't hear his sister or mother come in, but then again, he's been taking sleeping pills to combat the nightmares, so he probably wouldn't wake up to a stampede of elephants through the hallway.

"_It's alright, kid." The paramedic says as they work at extracting him from the wreckage._

"_Where's my dad?" John asks as panic floods his system. He'd come to as they wrenched the door off the passenger side of the car. He'd looked over and not seen his dad. _

"_Relax." The man said. "You have to relax. We have to get you to the hospital."_

_John swiveled once more to look at the driver's seat. The blue and red lights of the emergency vehicles lit up the seat with blood stains. _

"_Is he alright?" John shrieked. _

"_I'm sorry." The man said not meeting John's gaze. "I'm so sorry."_

_John felt his entire body start shivering with adrenaline and shock. "The other driver?"_

"_She didn't make it either." The man said quietly. "Just stay still. We'll get you out of here, okay?"_

_John lapsed into silence and felt the first waves of pain crash over him as his adrenaline seeped away. They got him into the ambulance before he passed out. He woke up to see his mother and sister sobbing by his hospital bed._


	3. Chapter 3

John is sitting on the floor of the boy's bathroom in one of the stalls practically hyperventilating. How could he have been so stupid? God, he never should have left his cane leaning against the urinal like that. Not with that sniveling rat, Anderson, entering right after him. He had just stared dumbly as that little prat grabbed it and ran out the door.

"Have a good walk home, cripple!" Anderson called.

John had been so embarrassed that he had hopped over to the stall and shut the door after him. How the hell was he supposed to get home? He'd stayed late to work on some homework in the library. He couldn't afford a cell phone and Harry wouldn't look for him. His mother was working a double shift to try to pay the hospital bills and Lestrade had practice tonight. Bugger.

He sat there for about ten minutes breathing heavily with his head between his legs before pulling himself up using the wall for support. He teetered for a few seconds before finding his balance and hopping slowly with one hand on the wall. He was halfway down the hall when he slipped and landed hard yelping as pain radiated up his leg.

"Watson?" A girl called from behind him.

"Oh," he said flushing with embarrassment. "Hello, Sally."

"Need a hand, mate?" She asked walking around to face him properly.

"Uh…well…" John stuttered.

"Stop being such a wanker and take my hand." She said rolling her eyes. "I can drive you home."

"Okay," John said quietly letting her help him to his feet.

She wrapped his hand over her shoulder and walked with him out of the building toward her car.

"I thought you were going with my sister to that concert this weekend?" He asked curiously. Sally was his sister's latest fling. Sally was quick witted, foul mouthed, and secretly nice. John approved.

"Yeah, well…" She said hesitantly after helping him into her car. "Turns out your sister would rather chase after Clara's skirt."

"I'm sorry." John said awkwardly.

"Nothing you did." She said simply closing the door after him and walking around to climb in the driver's side. She buckled in smartly and started the car. "How are you doing?"

"Not too bad." He said taking deep breaths as she exited the parking lot and pulled out onto the main street. Not surprisingly, cars were not something that he wanted to come into contact with more than absolutely necessary since the accident.

"Bollocks," She said throwing him a snarky grin. "But I'll let it pass."

"Where are we going?" He asked as Sally missed the turn to take him home.

"Call it a hunch." Sally said. They drove for another few minutes before she pulled into a nice neighborhood and stopped outside a large brick house. "Be right back."

She exited the car and rang the doorbell. John didn't recognize the woman that answered the door but felt his face drain of color and slinked down into the seat as Anderson showed his ugly face as well. He could just make out the conversation.

"Hello," Sally said in a happy tone. "I was wondering if I could have a quick word with your son."

"Of course." Anderson guffawed happily. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

"Give me the cane or I will clock you one." Sally growled.

"What are you his protector now?" Anderson sneered.

"No," She said. "I'm just a decent fucking human being with rage issues. Now hand it over or get ready to explain to the entire school how you got punched by a girl."

"You wouldn't." Andereson said nervously.

"Is that a theory you really want to put to the test, you little twerp?" She answered.

John heard a door slam and Sally's footsteps as she came back to the car. She handed him the cane and got in without any fuss.

"You didn't have to do that." John said feeling heat flood into his face.

"Do what?" Sally asked dumbly. "I just drove you home."

"Thanks." John said quietly.

He saw Sally smile out of the corner of his eye and they listened to the radio loudly for the rest of the drive.

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"What do you mean that we aren't going to be able to go Paris this year!" Harry shrieked at the top of her lungs. "We always go to Paris for a week during the summer!"

"We can't afford it, Harriet." Mum said firmly. "With the medical bills, funeral costs, and trying to make the house payments on time, we just don't have any extra funds. I'm sorry."

John sat huddled in the corner of the kitchen as he watched the epic row that was occurring in the living room.

"This is so unfair!" Harry screamed and then threw herself onto the couch in a fit of temper. "I never get anything I want!"

John made his exit shortly after that. It had been almost two months since the accident and he didn't need a cane anymore. He just had a brace that was supposed to stabilize his leg as he got used to putting more weight on it. It was a Saturday morning and he had plans to meet Mrs. Hudson in an hour. No reason not to get there early. He grabbed an umbrella on his way out and began his slow trek to their park.

"Well, look at you!" Mrs. Hudson said cheerily as she met him at their bench.

John wasn't sure what it was about the older woman, but he couldn't help but get excited each week to just sit with her for a few hours and chat about nothing.

"I know." John said with a grin shaking away the remnants of the fight at home. "No cane."

"Stand up." She commanded. "Let me see you properly."

John did as he was asked and blushed as she took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead gently. "You look wonderful. Now tell me about your week."

They wandered through the park, John leading Met and Mrs. Hudson resting on his arm.

"What are your plans for the summer, dearie?" She asked.

"Not sure yet." He said with a shrug. "I need to find a job, that's for sure."

"What do you have in mind?" She asked.

"Anything really." John answered honestly. "I'll do anything."

"I was hoping you would say that." She said smiling.

He quirked an eyebrow in her direction and she continued, "I am in need of an assistant to help me with some of the more strenuous tasks at the house. My employer okayed me to find someone and I immediately thought of you."

"Wow." John said feeling excitement flood through his veins. "Thanks, Mrs. Hudson! That's so great."

"It's not the easiest house to manage," Mrs. Hudson tutted seriously. "But I don't doubt that you can do it and it pays rather well."

"That sounds brilliant." He said leaning over to kiss Mrs. Hudson on the cheek.

She smiled brightly and turned them back toward her car. "We can go now if you like."

John looked down at his outfit and grimaced at what he saw. He wasn't a vain teenage by any means but he didn't really want his future employer seeing him in his old shirt and the trousers with the hole in the knee.

"Don't trouble yourself, dearie." She said patting his arm lightly. "The Holmes could care less what you work in. They certainly don't have the right to judge considering some of the things those people get up to.

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"You must be John." Mrs. Holmes said holding out a hand covered in something yellowish.

"Yes, hello, Mrs. Holmes." He said with a smile taking the hand fearlessly.

"Oh, please." She said, waving her stained hands in front of her face. "Call me Anna."

John stared up at the figure in front of him. Anna Holmes had to be six feet tall. She was thin and willowy with cascades of dark brown wavy hair framing her pale face.

"Alright." John promised and then internally swore to never do that.

"Mrs. Hudson has told me so much about you." Mrs. Holmes continued with an easy smile. "She seems incredibly found of you."

"Well, I'm pretty fond of her as well." John said easily.

"So, she mentioned you might have an interest in assisting with some of the heavier work around here." Mrs. Holmes continued.

"Yes." John said evenly. "I do a lot of the housework around my house now so it wouldn't be anything that I would be unfamiliar with."

"Wonderful." She said clapping her hands together in front of her and finally noticing the stains. "Oh, dear. I completely forgot. Don't worry, it's just…"

"Iodine." John answered helpfully. "Yes, I noticed."

"Well done, John." She said walking off down the hall and motioning for John to follow her into a large office filled with rich looking, wooden furniture. She sat behind the desk and motioned for him to take a seat opposite her. "You'll be under Mrs. Hudson's direct supervision. She'll give you tasks and chores to complete and I do expect them to be completed in a timely fashion."

"Of course." John nodded along happily.

"I might have the occasional side job for you to work on as well, but Mrs. Hudson's tasks take priority." Mrs. Holmes continued.

"Alright." John answered.

"I'm sure that Mrs. Hudson has shared with you the unique way in which my family lives, John." She said with a shrug. "We are incredibly unorthodox and as such it is important just to take things as they come. Roll with the punches as they say."

"Alright." John said again feeling something unsettling run up his spine.

"You'll adapt rather quickly I think to the house but please keep one thing in mind." Mrs. Holmes said letting her smile drop for the first time. "Don't listen to a word that either of my sons say. They aren't your employers, they don't get to tell you what to do and they know it. Come talk to me if they do attempt to bully or manipulate you in anyway."

"Okay." John said hesitantly.

"I am very serious about this, John." She said. "My boys may be brilliant but that also makes them manipulating little bastards occasionally."

"Right." John said firmly. "Come talk to you if they bother me."

"Exactly." She said with a wink.

"When would you like me to start?" He asked.

"That's entirely between you and Mrs. Hudson." She said letting the smile overwhelm her delicate features again. "You're more than welcome to work evenings, weekends, nights. I don't care."

"Right then." He said with a smile.

"Good to have you on board, John." She said rising and taking his hand again. "I think you'll do well here."

"Yeah," He said returning the grin. "I think I will too."

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**I had to make Sally good here. I hope no one minds. Next chapter: SHERLOCK.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Enter: Sherlock Holmes! Yay!**

John padded stiffly down the stairs to the kitchen. It was early on a Sunday morning and Mrs. Hudson had asked him to help with some fancy dinner that was being held at the Holmes manor house that evening. He was going to grab a quick slice of jam-laden toast when a loud snore pulled him from the refrigerator to the living room.

"Oh, christ." John muttered in disgust as he stared down at his sister's unconscious figure. She was lying in a pool of her own sick on the couch and the smell of alcohol was overpowering. He walked down the hall to his mother's room and found it empty. "Okay…"

He went back to the prone form of his older sister two weeks away from graduating and sighed in resignation. He reached out and nudged her shoulder gently and prodded her a bit more roughly when she made no move to wake up.

"Harry!" John called. "You have to get up."

"Fuck off." She growled.

"Come on." He said. "I have to go to work, let me at least get you to your bed before I leave."

"I said 'fuck off', John." She said again.

"Fine." He said feeling anger rise quickly. "Lay in your own filth. See if I care."

He turned on his heel and stomped slowly out the back door to wait for Mrs. Hudson to pick him up. She arrived shortly and he climbed in and smiled happily as she handed him an egg sandwich as she pulled away from his house. They drove just on the outskirts of town and turned onto a long, gravel road that afforded a stunning view of the manor. It was huge, filled with expensive antiques and family heirlooms. Of course, most of those had been stored neatly away in rooms that were just for show. Nothing of incredible value or sentiment was placed in the common areas of the house. Apparently, the objects in those areas often ended up broken or missing. He'd only been working there for a few weekends until school let out for the summer, but even that was long enough to know that the youngest Holmes was the culprit.

He'd yet to actually glimpse either of the brothers, not that he really even cared, but the stories that Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes told did piqué his curiosity just a bit. So far, he'd been doing basic yard work and helping move dressers and such in some of the great rooms. They pulled around to the rear of the house and entered next to the kitchen. He watched as Mrs. Hudson dropped her bag in the small alcove in the pantry before turning to survey the preparations. It was supposed to be an outdoor picnic but the weather was threatening to dump buckets of rain all afternoon so they were working on getting the conservatory ready for guests as well. Mrs. Hudson handed him a broom and patted his cheek lightly as she asked him to sweep the floors before the tables arrived.

He walked up the three flights of stairs slowly and made his way through two of the great rooms before starting to sweep diligently. He placed the ear buds of Harry's old MP3 player in his ears and let the task lull him into a sort of numb unawareness to what exactly was going on around him. He jerked back to himself as a door slammed loudly just off the conservatory in the hallway. He pulled the buds out of his ears and was greeted by a cacophony of shouts.

"You've been out all night!" Mrs. Holmes shouted. "What exactly was I supposed to do?"

"You could have sent me a text." A young voice called back.

"You didn't answer, Sherlock!" She replied. "I sent you seven texts and tried to call you just as often!"

"So, your grand solution was to call Father's friends on the police force?" He shouted back.

"I needed to know that you were safe!" She said exasperated. "Is that such a crime?"

"I don't need someone keeping tabs on me!" He shouted back. "I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself!"

"You're fifteen!" She responded. "You may be brilliant, but you are still a child!"

"Jim doesn't treat me like a child!" He flung back.

"Jim!" She said heatedly. "You were out all night with Jim! Sherlock, he's dangerous!"

"At least he's not boring!" Sherlock fired off. "Like everyone else in this god forsaken fucking town!"

John heard someone storming down a flight of stairs and coming toward him as Mrs. Holmes called, "Where do you think you're going!"

"OUT!" Sherlock called back before whirling around a corner and almost running straight into John. He cataloged the new boy quickly as Sherlock mirrored his assessment. He was tall and lanky with a mop of black curls standing out as if electrocuted. His eyes were a gray/green and his face was angular and pale. They both froze and stared for about a ten seconds before Sherlock shook his head as if trying to shake out some water before shoving past John and calling over his shoulder, "How's your alcoholic sibling? Get wasted and vomit all over herself again?"

John took a step back in shock as the other boy flew out the side entrance and slammed the door so hard that the pane of glass shattered. He stood there unable to move until he heard a set of heels clicking toward him. Mrs. Holmes came into view as she rubbed her hands over her hair in frustration but stopped suddenly when she saw John.

"Oh!" She said. "John! I'm so sorry you had to hear that. Sherlock's a bit spirited and tends to rebel against rules and social engagements."

"Right." John said stupidly turning to sweep up the broken glass. "Okay."

"Well," She said turning away awkwardly. "Thanks for coming in to help this morning. I know it's incredibly early."

"It's no problem." John answered with a smile feeling on safer ground. "I don't mind."

"You're a good kid, John." She said.

"Oh," he said blushing. "Thanks."

"I'll see you later." She said before turning to head back to the house. "And thanks again."

John quickly finished up in the conservatory and made his way back to the kitchens for more instructions from Mrs. Hudson. One glance at the set of John's face and Mrs. Hudson pushed a cup of tea into his hands. "Don't worry, dearie. That's just Sherlock."

"He's always like that?" He asked incredulously.

"More often than not." Mrs. Hudson said with a shake of her head. "He really was a sweet, brilliant child, but the teenage years have been a bit rough on him. He's just trying to find himself."

"It certainly is a loud scavenger hunt if nothing else." John murmurs and smiles when Mrs. Hudson giggles.

"Have a seat and enjoy your tea." She said. "Next we'll have you set up the chairs."

John worked steadily throughout the morning and early afternoon. His leg was still a little stiff but he found himself bouncing back relatively quickly now that he didn't have to use the dreaded cane. The event was slated to last until 5:00pm and he had agreed to help with clean-up as well. John had very little to do other than assist the kitchen staff with washing dishes so he spent almost two hours curled up in one of the rooms in the basement of the house with a book. He glanced at his watch to see that it was ten till 5:00pm so he resolved to head back to the kitchen to get directions from Mrs. Hudson. He was walking quietly down the hall when he heard odd sounds coming from one of the storage rooms further down the corridor. He walked quickly trying to avoid disturbing anyone when a strangled moan made him glance over at the open doorway. He froze stupidly for the second time that morning once again by the same bloke. He felt his face flush quickly as he saw Sherlock Holmes half naked rutting against a shorter boy with dark hair about the same age. He turned even redder when the other boy turned to stare at John before smirking, "Sorry, pet, this is a private party."

"Fuck, Jim!" Sherlock said trying to cover himself up. "I told you to close the fucking door!"

John practically ran down the hallway and away from the high pitched giggle that followed him. He spent the rest of the late afternoon in a haze of embarrassment as he helped put the chairs and tables back before being driven home by Mrs. Hudson.

He walked into his house just after 7pm and found no one home again. He sighed heavily and made his way up the stairs before collapsing onto the bed and falling asleep instantly. He'd spent all day shoving the image away from him further and further back into his subconscious. However, he couldn't quite get the image to leave him alone in his dreams.

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"John!" Lestrade called as he jogged off the pitch. "Glad you made it!"

"Of course!" John answered with a grin. "I wouldn't miss it. Bloody brilliant, Greg."

"Thanks, mate!" Lestrade said. "Some of the blokes and I are going to grab some Indian, are you in?"

"Sure." He said. He waited outside the locker room as Lestrade showered and changed. They walked and chatted happily about finals until they stopped in front of the restaurant and entered the dimly lit room. John collapsed into the chair between Lestrade and Stamford letting the familiar flow of bullshit and laughter overwhelm his senses. For the first time since the accident, he felt like he was letting go of that suffocating fog of sadness and frustration and hate that had weighed him down for two months.

"So what are everyone's plans for the summer?" Stamford asked curiously.

"Job!" Several people chimed in including John.

"Where are you working?" Stamford asked.

"The Holmes Manor." John said. "I'm assisting the housekeeper with yardwork and shit."

"The Holmes Manor?" Anderson squeaked from the other end of the table. "You're working for those freaks?"

"They're not bad." John said hedging. "Mrs. Holmes is really nice. I guess she's the only one I've actually met."

"Trust me." Anderson said haughtily. "That entire family is just a bunch of creepy fuckers. I heard that they keep dead bodies in the basement for dissection."

"Fuck off, Anderson." Lestrade barked. "Nobody asked for your opinion. Just because he caught you trying to have a wank in the supply closet doesn't mean he's a freak."

Anderson picked up some bread and threw it at Lestrade's head and then was quickly escorted out of the restaurant by the owner. The team and John giggled for twenty minutes when they saw Anderson, beat red, being led out by his shirt collar. They enjoyed the rest of their dinner and the boys were walking home when Lestrade brought up the topic again.

"My dad said you're welcome at the garage too, John." He said. "He'd love to have you on."

"Tell him thanks for me." John said with a smile. "I'll try it at the Manor first. I don't know if it'll last but it can't hurt to try and the pay is wonderful."

"Strange bunch then?" Lestrade asked with a wry grin.

"Just Sherlock really." John said hesitantly. "It's like having a hurricane of rage and self-importance living in your house."

"Sounds barmy." Lestrade said with a chuckle.

"I've only actually met him the one time but, fuck, that kid is intense." John said trying to push past the heat threatening to rise to his face.

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**In my head canon, I can only ever imagine Sherlock as a completely uncontrollable, crazy, brilliant, dangerous genius as a teenager. So...yeah.**


	5. Chapter 5

"You were in a car accident less than six months ago causing serious injury to your right leg."

"Mycroft Benjamin Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson cried loudly. "Get the hell out of here right now or I'll call your father!"

The twenty-three year old smirked before sauntering out of the library where John was working on waxing the wood floors.

"It's okay, Mrs. Hudson." He said with a shrug. "You can't actually fault the guy for being right."

"That's sweet of you, John." She said still looking flustered. "But Mycroft revels in making people uncomfortable with his deductions. Best to nip it in the bud right away."

"It really doesn't bother me." He answered.

"How was your sister's graduation?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a smile.

"Fine." John said clearing his throat. The party that Mum had put together had been quite nice, but Harry showing up three hours late so blitzed that she pissed in the bushes had not been so nice. He'd never seen his mother so embarrassed before. His aunt from London had come into town especially for Harry's graduation and everything.

"And how does it feel to officially be 16?" Mrs. Hudson said as she dusted some of the pictures on the walls.

"About the same?" He smiled. "I honestly had almost forgotten about my birthday. It's been such a crazy year. My Mum got me a new jumper."

"I bet you look lovely in it, dearie." She said with a smile. "To celebrate your first official work week here and your birthday, I'll take you out to lunch."

"You really don't have to do that." He said turning a bit red.

"Hush now, John." She said with a mock scowl. "I do what I like and you just have to go along with it."

"Okay, Mrs. Hudson."

"Now I've got to see about the new window treatments. You finish up here and meet me in the foyer. We'll leave around noon."

"Sounds great."

John worked quickly making sure that the floor treatments were even just like Mrs. Hudson had shown him. He was just getting up and rubbing at his abused knees when he heard someone in the hall. He picked up his supplies and turned to head back to the workroom to clean up. He glanced down the hallway and was surprised to find it empty. He'd been sure that there was someone out here just a few seconds ago. He walked quickly but kept turning because he could of swore that he heard someone behind him but whenever he turned, there was no one there.

"I'm apparently going barmy." He muttered to himself. He washed up and took proper care of the rags and brushes he'd used before turning to meet Mrs. Hudson for lunch. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the boy standing not a foot from the entrance to the workroom.

"Good, John." The youth said quickly turning on his heel. "Follow me."

"Pardon?" John asked taking in the sight of Sherlock still in his pajamas and a ratty dressing gown at noon.

"I require your assistance," Sherlock turned back. "Come along."

"Sorry, mate." John said turning in the opposite direction. "I've got to meet Mrs. Hudson."

"You have to come with me." The youth said uncertainly. "You work for my family."

"That's adorable, but no." John said firmly. "I work for your mother and specifically work with Mrs. Hudson. Considering that she's my boss and she hands out my paycheck, I think I'll follow her instructions first."

John turned and walked quickly down the hallway toward the foyer and away from Sherlock. He felt the hairs on his arms stand to attention as he turned back to find Sherlock trailing him down the hallway, up the stairs, and into the formal entrance to the house. He turned back one more time as he walked up to Mrs. Hudson and found that Sherlock had disappeared.

"Are you ready to go, dearie?" She asked.

"Yeah, thanks." John said trying to shake away the weird encounter.

"Met's waiting for us in the yard." Mrs. Hudson said with a soft pat to his cheek. "Let's go celebrate."

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"Did you honestly just stalk that poor boy through the house, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked startling his little brother.

"Stuff it, Mycroft." Sherlock said wrapping his dressing gown around his thin frame. "Shouldn't you be infiltrating the government or something?"

"My superior insisted that I take a week of vacation." Mycroft drawled. "Of course, what they're actually doing is trying to surprise me with a promotion and new office for when I return. Not very well if I might add. Don't change the subject though. Why were you tracking the help?"

"Don't be an idiot." Sherlock shot back. "He's not the help, his name is John."

"Interesting." Mycroft said with a smug grin. "I, of course, knew his name. Ran the background check myself. What's really interesting is that you knew his name as well."

Sherlock felt his pale features flush pink but kept his voice even when he replied, "I was bored. There was nothing else to do."

"Nothing else to do?" Mycroft continued. "Keep telling yourself that, if it gives you comfort."

Sherlock watched his brother saunter off before he turned to climb the steps to his own room.

"Insufferable git." He whispered to himself.

He collapsed onto his rumpled sheets to stare out the window. If he let his eyes track Mrs. Hudson's car driving out to the main road, he wasn't going to process it too thoroughly.

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"John!" His Mum called up the stairs.

"Yeah!" He shouted back just about to take a shower.

"Have you seen Harriet?" She asked.

"Not since yesterday." He answered.

"Well, if you see her before you leave, ask her to call me at work." She called. "I'm working another double today so I left some money for a take-away on the table."

"Thanks, Mum!" he said. "I'm working late tonight to help with another party."

He heard his mother climb the stairs quickly. She turned the corner and pulled him into a tight hug placing a kiss in his hair before pulling back to look at his face, "You are such a good boy, John."

John swallowed the strange lump cutting off his air flow, "It's nothing really. I don't mind helping out."

He'd been giving his Mum half of every paycheck to help with bills. His mother didn't normally say anything when he left the pounds in her sock drawer but he knew that she needed them desperately.

He watched his mother wipe some tears away quickly before she kissed his forehead again and left for work. He turned back to enter the bathroom and adjusted the tap so the water wasn't freezing cold. He got undressed quickly and let his eyes drop down to stare at the ruby red scar that trailed down his leg in a jagged line. He spent most of his days trying to forget about the damn thing but once a day when he was standing in front of the mirror, the memory gripped him painfully and made him break out in a cold sweat. He stared at the awful thing for a few more seconds before sighing heavily and getting in the shower.

He grabbed some toast and went to wait outside for Mrs. Hudson settling on the stoop of his house to read in the interim. He didn't really think anything of a shiny black car stopping in front of his house. He was looking for Mrs. Hudson's beige station wagon and assumed the car was just looking for another address when he heard someone call his name.

"John Watson?" Mycroft Holmes called.

"Oh!" John said a bit nonplussed. "Hello, Mycroft."

"Mrs. Hudson's car broke down." He drawled. "I'm to bring you to the house."

"Okay." John said hesitantly. He'd had almost no interaction with the eldest Holmes but was immediately aware of how uncomfortable it was to be in his presence. He rose quickly and made his way to the car sliding in the passenger's seat. The silence was deafening in the car and John pulled out his book to continue reading if for no other reason than to have an excuse not to chat with the man.

"You're interested in creative writing." Mycroft said evenly.

"Pardon?" John said glancing over.

"Your book." He said. "One book on the writing styles of a famous author might indicate a mild interest, but that is the third book that you've brought to the house about the plot and writing styles of well-known authors."

"Oh," John said dumbly. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"What do you write about, John?" Mycroft asked curiously.

"Nothing yet." John answered honestly.

"You don't write about things that happen to you?" Mycroft asked.

"Nothing happens to me." John said quietly.

Mycroft made a sort of humming, affirmation in the back of his throat and the conversation dropped away allowing John to settle back onto his book. They arrived at the house and Mycroft dropped John off at the side entrance before driving to the garage. John quickly entered the house and got to work. Mrs. Hudson wanted him to put new mulch down on some of the landscaping plots before helping set up for the event.

"The piles of mulch aren't even." A voice said quietly behind him. He jumped slightly and turned to face Sherlock.

"Do you enjoy sneaking up on people?" John asked with a slight grin.

"A little." The other kid smiled.

"Well done, then." John answered. "What about the mulch?"

"The piles aren't distributed evenly to ensure that every space is properly covered. The third one from the left is insufficient to fill the required area." Sherlock said.

"Okay." John said. "How do you propose I solve the problem?"

"Use the extras from the far right pile." He answered as if this was incredibly obvious.

John rose and grabbed a handle of mulch from the far right pile and walked it over to insufficient one that Sherlock had pointed out and dropped it unceremoniously on top.

"Come now, John." Sherlock sighed heavily. "That's hardly going to solve the problem.

Sherlock grabbed a much larger handful and dropped it on top of John's.

"Right, thanks." John said awkwardly. He knelt back down to continue covering the area when he turned back to still see Sherlock standing there. "Anything else?"

Sherlock stared at John for a second longer than was actually comfortable and then dropped down beside him and began working as well. "It's much more efficient if you do it like this, John."

"At least put on a pair of gloves, Sherlock." John admonished lightly handing him an extra set from his work kit. Sherlock glanced at them hesitantly before taking them and pulling them on his long, pale hands.

They settled into a strange quiet as they worked through the entire landscaping bed. It was almost twenty minutes of silence when they both rose and wiped off their knees and hands. They both turned back toward the house when they saw Mrs. Holmes standing at the door to the house in a stunned sort of slack-jawed stare.

"What?" Sherlock challenged darkly.

"Nothing, dear." His mother said shaking her head lightly. "Nothing at all, I was just going to ask John for a favor."

Sherlock met her gaze for another few seconds before tossing his gloves at John and stalking back into the house.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Holmes." John said, misunderstanding the situation entirely. "I didn't mean to have him help."

"No, John!" She said quickly with a happy wave of her hand. "Don't apologize. I was just a bit shocked is all."

"Oh, okay." John said grabbing at the rest of his supplies. "What did you need?"

"Would you mind helping the delivery men with the table cloths?" She asked.

"Of course." He said with a nod. "Let me get cleaned up and then I'll go right there."

"Thank you." She smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

**You guys have been great! Thanks for reading/reviewing! **

John spent the rest of the day running to keep up with all of the tasks that needed to be completed. He helped cover the tables, rinsed the dust off twenty-five complete table settings of the fine china, helped install some new rugs in the main corridors, helped set the tables, and evened out the gravel in the entryway. He was bone-tired and was thankful for a bit of rest during the actual dinner. He wasn't dressed properly to assist with anything during the actual arrival of the guests and he can't say that he really minded at all. He liked the flurry of activity surrounding the events at the Manor, but had no desire to actually interact with the self-important guests that attended them.

He still had another hour before the end of the event and wanted to be productive. He'd finished his latest book and had no desire to sit twiddling his thumbs waiting to assist with clean up and tear down. He wandered the back way into Mrs. Holmes's office and began working on the new bookcases she'd had delivered from Ikea. He was halfway through the second bookcase when he heard someone walking hesitantly down the hall. He poked his head out in curiosity and felt his heart palpitate at the guest.

"John!" The woman said surprised.

"Mrs. Sawyer." He answered back and shuffled his feet awkwardly. He stared at the woman and felt a wave of grief slip through his veins. Sarah resembled her mother so much. It had been months since the accident but the woman was obviously still mourning the loss of her oldest daughter. Everybody was actually. Sarah was the most popular girl in school. Everyone loved her and thought she was brilliant. She wanted to be a doctor and it was unanimously agreed upon that she would succeed. That is, until John's dad had gotten drunk and killed them both. And he could see Mrs. Sawyer thinking the exact same thing and staring at John with a hard edge.

"Can I, huh, help you with something, Mrs. Sawyer?" John asked awkwardly.

"The powder room?" She asked a little breathlessly.

"Right." He said. "Just down this hall, fourth door on the left."

"Thanks." She said tersely.

His legs felt like wet noodles as he jerked back into the room and slipped down against the far wall letting his head hang in between his bent knees. He was breathing heavily and couldn't even guess how long he'd been sitting there when Mrs. Hudson found him.

"Goodness, John." She called softly as he lifted his tear-stained face to look at her. "Let's get you home, dearie."

He was silent as Mrs. Hudson guided him through the house and out to the garage, he entered the car she pointed to as she went to get the keys from the wall and collapsed into himself for the entire ride.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" Mrs. Hudson asked softly.

"No, I'll be fine." He grumbled. "Thanks, Mrs. Hudson."

"Take tomorrow off, dearie." She said firmly. "I'll pick you up on Thursday at 7am."

"Alright." He whispered.

He entered the empty house, stumbled to his room, and fell onto his bed fully clothed. He didn't have the energy to get up and change, but he was too upset to fall asleep. He just lay there for hours staring at the ceiling.

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Sherlock jerked awake and felt his stomach roil painfully. He stumbled to the bathroom and heaved. His skin felt like it was on fire and his eyes were so sensitive the small amount of light peeking in from the blinds was causing stabbing pains through his head. He brushed his teeth to try and clear away the taste of stomach acid and rancid alcohol before leaning against the cool porcelain of bathroom tiles. He felt like death. All of his muscles were strained and sore leaving him shaky and unsteady.

"What the hell was that cut with?" Sherlock muttered to himself.

He took a hesitant step and felt his arse twinge painfully. "Well, we definitely did _that_ last night."

He heard Jim stir in his sleep and made his way back to the bed. He climbed in and fought his sleeping partner for the duvet. He covered his head with a pillow to limit the amount of light attacking his photoreceptors and let his mind run hazily from thought to thought as he waited for sleep to claim again. He was almost startled at how easily his mind turned toward John Watson. He'd surprised himself with how interested he was in the other boy. It wasn't like he was extremely intelligent like Mycroft or fascinating like Jim, but he found that he enjoyed watching John and he hadn't minded helping him the other morning. It was pleasant.

"It better be thoughts of me that are putting that stupid grin on your face." Jim said roughly.

"Fuck off, Jim." He said schooling his expression.

"Well, that was a blast." Jim said changing the subject and stretching languidly. "Now get the fuck out. I have important shit to do that doesn't involve your posh arse."

"You're a twat." Sherlock said rising slowly and looking for his shirt and trousers.

"Sorry," Jim said. "But if anyone is the bitch in this relationship, it is definitely you, you fuckslut."

He ignored the comment and quickly donned his clothing before reaching for his phone. Twelve messages from his mother. Fantastic. He made his way quickly out the door without another word to Jim and began the two mile walk of shame back to the house. He was still shivering and pale from the drugs as he entered through the back of the house and tried to sneak upstairs without being noticed. He was just about to enter his room when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.

"You are doing a spectacular job turning your brilliant mind into a useless, drugged out soup, Sherlock." Mycroft said snottily.

"Fuck off." Sherlock said entering his room and slamming the door, locking it behind him.

For the second time that morning, he went to the bathroom and vomited up more vile tasting acid before taking an ice cold shower to get rid of the sweat coating every inch of his skin. He glanced down at his elbows as the water sent another set of shivers through his abused body. The track marks stood out as bright purple dots as the icy water hit his skin. He wrapped himself in a towel when finished and collapsed onto his bed stark naked letting sleep drag him under.

He awoke later with something heavy poking him in the side and someone yelling something at him.

"Get up, right now!" Mrs. Holmes shouted.

He rolled over to cover himself with a blanket before letting his eyes crack open to stare into the hurt-filled features of his mother.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sherlock!" She screamed again. "This is dangerous and you're killing yourself."

"Don't be an idiot." Sherlock grumbled. "I'm more than capable of administering the correct doses without problems. Now, let me go back to sleep."

He yelped as his mother pulled the sheets out from under him causing him to fall to the floor. "Like hell you will! I'm not going to let you get away with this. Get your arse out of bed and meet me in the office in five minutes or so help me I will call your father."

Sherlock grumbled loudly at her as she strode out the door and slammed it but got up and headed for another shower anyway. He had no desire to submit to his father's disciplinary actions if he could avoid it.

He spent the morning working on all of the homework his tutors had assigned that he'd been neglecting for the past three weeks under the watchful eye of his mother. He had everything completed by early afternoon and was forced to spend the rest of the day entering data from his mother's latest experiment into a database. Everything was incredibly dull. He was finally allowed to return to his room at 6pm and spent another two hours working on an experiment of his own. He felt a grin curl at the corners of his mouth as he heard the ping of a text on his mobile.

_Meet me at Zero at 11pm. Try not to embarrass me. JM_

Sherlock felt delicious waves of adrenaline seep into his system at the prospect of a night out. This was going to be brilliant.

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"John Watson?" The voice asked against the loud beating music of a club.

"Yeah?" John asked glancing at the clock and reading 1am in red lettering.

"Do you know a Harriet Watson?" The woman asked.

"Yes." John said feeling his heart deflate painfully.

"She needs to be picked up." The woman said. "Are you her father?"

"Her brother." He answered awkwardly. "Where is she?"

"Club Zero." The woman responded. "Do you know it?"

"Yeah." He said wiping the final remnants of sleep from his eyes. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Just tell the man at the door that you're here for her," The woman answered.

"Alright." John said slamming the landline phone down a little harder than actually necessary.

The club was only a few blocks away but he reached into his sock drawer to pull out several pounds. If they were calling, then she obviously wasn't in any state to walk home. He checked his Mum's room and was a little uneasy to find it empty again. He walked out of the house and into the night. He walked quickly and asked for Harry at the door as the man rolled his eyes and spoke into an ear piece before ignoring him completely. He commandeered a cab as they waited and sighed heavily as someone half-carried his sister out of the club. He was taking his sister from the club employee when some commotion made him turn around.

John's jaw dropped open as he saw two bouncers escort Sherlock Holmes out of the club and dump him on the sidewalk.

"Sherlock?" John asked shocked.

He absorbed the pale complexion, blown pupils, and tremors running through the boy's body as Sherlock stumbled to his feet and lurched toward him.

"John!" Sherlock cried happily nearly bowling them over in his drugged-up excitement.

"Sherlock!" John called trying to stabilize both Harry and the boy. "Woah, calm down. What's going on?"

"Obvious," Sherlock said rolling his eyes. "Don't be dull."

"Are you with someone?" John asked. "Can someone take you home?"

"Jim left." Sherlock said still flitting around John and grabbing at his shoulders.

"Did you call your brother?" John asked as he turned to get Harry in the waiting cab.

"Of course not!" Sherlock said with another put-upon sigh.

"Well, how are you going to get home?" John asked which caused Sherlock stop short and stare into space.

John rolled his eyes at the other boy. Apparently, the question had been enough to short circuit the rest of Sherlock's brain.

"Come on." John said wearily. "We'll get you home."

"No!" Sherlock practically shouted at John. "I can't go home."

John finished getting Harry settled before leveling an appraising look at the vibrating, junkie in front of him. "Get in. You can come home with me."

"Thank you, John!" Sherlock said launching himself into the cab and slamming the door.

John sighed heavily and got in the front with the cabbie. The ride was uneventful if you ignored the running commentary that was practically flying out of Sherlock for the entire five minute ride. John paid the cabbie almost double the fare and pulled Harry out carrying her to the house as Sherlock followed still chattering like a chipmunk. John settled Harry on the couch with a bucket on the floor by her head before turning to see the vibrating Sherlock inches from him staring like a dying man stares at prime rib.

"Sherlock," John said quietly. "Why don't we get you some water and get you tucked up in bed?"

"I'm not in the least bit tired." Sherlock said.

"Alright." John said running a hand through his hair. "Would you like something to eat?"

"Are you going to eat, John?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"Sure." John said.

"Okay then." Sherlock said whipping around and heading toward the kitchen.

John drowned out Sherlock's insistent chattering as he made them each a cheese toasty and forced three glasses of water down the other boy's throat. He saw Sherlock's eyes begin to flutter closed and helped the stumbling boy up the steps and into his own bed. He'd sleep in his Mum's room tonight. Sherlock was snoring lightly as John helped him out of his shoes and under the covers. John got another bucket to set next to the bed just in case and made his way down to the kitchen to make a phone call. He was a bit startled to have the phone pick up on the first ring.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Holmes almost cried into the phone.

"Sorry," John said. "It's just John."

"John!" She said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." John said. "I just wanted to let you know that Sherlock's here with me at my house."

"Oh my god." She sighed heavily. "Is he alright?"

"Yeah," John answered. "He's asleep right now."

"I'll come pick him up." She said resolutely. "You shouldn't have to be responsible for him, John."

"Don't worry about it." He answered hurriedly. "He's asleep now and moving him would probably be worse than letting him sleep it off."

"Are you sure?" She said.

"Yeah." John said glancing at the clock. "Mrs. Hudson's picking me up at 7am anyway for work, I'll just drag him with me."

"Where did you find him?" She asked.

"Well…" John said embarrassed. "I got a call to pick up my sister at Club Zero and he was there as well."

"Oh god." She said forcefully. "Was he with Jim?"

"I have no idea." John said awkwardly really not wanting to get any further involved in a family squabble than he already was.

"Thank you, John." She sighed. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"Of course." John said. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

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**Jim's such a dick! **

**Hope you are liking the story!  
><strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Mrs. Hudson is a BAMF.**

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"Sherlock?" John called softly."Sherlock, you have to get up."

The boy currently sleeping in his bed spooning his pillow for dear life grumbled and shoved his nose further into it.

"Come on, Sherlock." John said a bit more forcefully. "Mrs. Hudson will be here shortly."

He reached out to shake the boy lightly when Sherlock grabbed his wrist and almost pulled him down onto the bed.

"Shit!" John called shocked.

At the loud noise, Sherlock's eyes cracked open and he groaned at the brightness. He released John and turned away taking the pillow with him.

"I'm not kidding," John said. "We have to get going."

He sighed as the doorbell went and he ran downstairs to let Mrs. Hudson know that he would be a bit longer when she just strode right past him and into the kitchen.

"Where is he?" She said tersely.

John led her up the stairs and pointed to his door. John stood agape as Mrs. Hudson strode toward the bed, pulled out a bullhorn, and turned it on right next to the sleeping boy's ear.

Sherlock practically leapt off the bed and grabbed at his pounding head and Mrs. Hudson growled, "Now, Sherlock. In the car."

Sherlock grabbed his shoes and avoided John's gaze as he made his way quickly down the stairs and out to the waiting car.

"So sorry, dearie." Mrs. Hudson said, patting his cheek. "Ready? We get to stop and get some coffee for you on the way."

They drove quickly through town with Sherlock in the back clutching his head. Mrs. Hudson stopped at a coffee shop drive-thru and got them both a jolt of caffeine. Sherlock quickly shut up after he demanded one as well and was met with a dark glare from Mrs. Hudson. They pulled around to the back of the house to find Mrs. Holmes waiting for them. They climbed out of the car and Mrs. Holmes's glare stopped Sherlock short.

"In my office. Now." She said menacingly.

Sherlock walked into the house without another glance at John.

He watched as Mrs. Holmes visibly deflated once Sherlock closed the door behind him. She turned a sad smile towards John and sighed heavily, "I am so sorry, John."

"It really is fine, Mrs. Holmes." John said attempting to be reassuring.

"No, it isn't." She said simply. "It isn't your responsibility to look after him. Oh, goodness. What did your mother think?"

"Oh," He said awkwardly. "She wasn't home…"

Mrs. Holmes tilted her head to stare at him appraisingly for a bit before continuing. "Anyway, thank you again."

Mrs. Holmes turned quickly and walked into the house and John watched as she braced her shoulders as she went to deal with her son.

"Best to stay out of the house today, John." Mrs. Hudson said quietly. "Why don't you work on trimming the walkways in the south garden?"

"Alright." John said happily. Staying out of the house today seemed like a fantastic idea. John worked steadily through the morning stopping only to have lunch before going back out in the hot summer sun to work. He looked around nervously before deciding to slip off his sweat-soaked shirt letting the sun tan his naturally golden skin. He tossed the shirt over by his work kit and spent the next two hours using it as a sweat rag as he trimmed hedges, pulled weeds, and regraveled the walkways. He stopped for a few minutes to lie under a nearby tree and drink a bottle of water letting his eyes drift closed for a few minutes.

"I brought you another bottle of water." A voice said causing him to jump suddenly.

"Back with the whole sneaking up on people thing?" John said with a grin as he pulled himself up to look at the other boy.

Sherlock's lip quirked up in the corner and held out the water. John accepted it gratefully and downed it in one go.

"So, how much trouble are you in?" John asked.

"A fair amount." Sherlock said evenly. "You disapprove?"

"I can't really file 'getting high as a kite' as one of the most intelligent things I've ever witnessed, no." John said with a shrug. "But it's your grave, mate."

"Oh, please." Sherlock said. "I'm brilliant, John. I can certainly figure out the proper amount without fear of an overdose."

"I'm not saying you can't." John answered before walking back out in the sun to get back to work. "But those chemicals fuck up a person's good sense."

"Are you referring to your father as well as your sister in that little analysis?" Sherlock bit off darkly.

John leveled a blank stare at the complete arse standing inches away from him. "Thanks for the water. Now, please, go away."

He turned back and got to work determined to ignore the presence of the other boy. He could practically feel those pale eyes watching him. Sherlock must have stood under that tree for another forty-five minutes watching him before John finished up his project, grabbed his work kit, and strode back to the house. He was washing his tools and hands before he realized that he'd left his shirt under the tree.

"Bollocks." He muttered. He turned to go back out but stopped when he saw his grimy shirt hanging on a peg in the workroom. He glanced around but didn't see Sherlock anywhere. He pulled the shirt over his sun-drenched skin and wished desperately for a shower.

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Sherlock walked quickly through the house and up to his room trying to shake the image of John from his mind. It was captivating. He had watched John's lean muscles bunch and flex under that golden skin as he worked. He thought about those lovely little indents that sat directly over the curve of his arse.

"Shit." Sherlock breathed angrily.

He threw himself on his bed and stared at the missed texts from Jim.

_Coming over tonight? JM_

_I'll expect you at 9pm. JM_

_Sherlock? Answer, damn it. JM_

Sherlock felt anger flare in his stomach as he typed back,

_Fuck off. SH_

He threw the phone across the room and wandered over to his laptop. The IM screen was up and Jim had sent him a message.

_Jim: What the hell is wrong with you?_

_SH: You left me there. By myself. _

_Jim: I'm sorry, I didn't realize you needed a keeper._

_SH: I don't need a keeper! But did you seriously have to leave just as I took a hit?_

_Jim: Stop whining. It's not my job to babysit your arse. It's my job to fuck it._

_SH: They were going to call the cops, Jim! I could have been arrested._

_Jim: Don't ever tell them where you got those drugs, Sherlock. I mean it._

_SH: Do you even care that my parents would send me to some sort of treatment facility?_

_Jim: I'd find someone to keep me company in the interim._

_SH: Fuck off._

_Jim: So, what did your mother say when she picked you up?_

_SH: She didn't._

_Jim: Did you pass out in an alleyway or something? Well done._

_SH: No, I went home with someone else._

_Jim: Excuse me?_

_SH: Is that jealousy, Jim?_

_Jim: Hardly. Who was it?_

_SH: John._

_Jim: Your new house pet? That's hilarious. That uptight git could use a good fuck. I hope you gave it to him hard._

_SH: That's really none of your business._

_Jim: Which means you did nothing. What? Did your mother call him to pick you up? Maybe you do need a keeper after all._

_SH: Fuck off._

_Jim: No! I think it's adorable, the crippled little house pet looking out for its Master._

_SH: You're boring me._

_Jim: Ya know, I heard that his father was a raging alcoholic that used to beat him senseless so you could even get a little rough._

_SH signed out._

Sherlock grabbed his violin to try and channel his anger. He ignored the twelve more texts that were obviously from Jim. He just needed to think. He played for several minutes before throwing his instrument on his bed in disgust. He couldn't focus and he had a sneaking suspicion about who was causing the problem.

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John had to crawl out of the shower and into his bedroom that evening. He was so tired he barely registered his mother shoving a sandwich in front of him and inhaling it. He dropped heavily against the sheets and breathed in something spicy and intoxicating. He felt warmth flood his body from the smell of Sherlock Holmes on his sheets and pillow.

"Shit." John breathed.

That's not helpful at all. He was pissed at the arse. He didn't want anything to do with him. He never wanted to lay eyes on those stupid, captivating eyes and those dumb, delicious curls.

"Fuck." He said angrily.

He threw the pillow off the bed and then shortly afterward, the sheets. He lay back on his completely stripped bed trying to shove away the thoughts of Sherlock curled on this bed just the night before…and failed miserably.

He'd figured out last year that he was bisexual after an interesting night at Rugby camp with a bloke from one of the other schools. They hadn't done much but it was certainly enough to convince John of his preferences. He'd told Lestrade and was happy with the result. Apparently, Lestrade could care less about your interests as long as you didn't let it interfere with Rugby practice. He hadn't really done anything with the information after that. There was no one at school that he had an interest in on either side of the fence. It's hard to be attracted to people that you watched eat paste when they were younger. Besides, he'd just been too busy really to engage in anything except regular wanking sessions. He let his mind suss out what was really involved in this little attraction.

Okay,

_Sherlock is the first bloke my age that I've had extended contact with that I didn't grow up with._

_Sherlock is objectively attractive._

_Heightened emotions that seem to be created by the mere presence of the boy would amplify anything, even just a passing acknowledgement of his attractiveness._

_Sherlock smells nice, but that smell on any other attractive bloke would affect me as well. It's probably just the cologne._

_Sherlock notices me. Not just in a "good boy, John" way either._

See. That wasn't so hard. He rolled over to go to sleep…after having a wank, of course.

**0000000000000000000**

**Finally! These boys are so fucking dim!**

**And Jim is still a complete arse.**

**Thanks again for reading and reviewing!**


	8. Chapter 8

"Ready to go, dearie?" Mrs. Hudson asked grabbing the leash by the back door.

"Yeah," He said with a grin. "Let me just wipe off a little bit."

"Take your time." She said. "I'll meet you at the car."

John turned to go the work room. He'd shown up early this morning to mow the lawn before the heat of the day settled too heavily. It was only half past 9 but he was still drenched in sweat and grass clippings. He pulled his bag from under the work top and pulled off his shirt before wiping down quickly with a flannel. He put on a quick swipe of deodorant and pulled the clean shirt from his bag. He packed away his belongings and hurried out the door to meet Mrs. Hudson. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Sherlock standing by the car having a conversation with the housekeeper.

"But he's my dog." Sherlock said evenly.

"You've never had an interest in walking him before." Mrs. Hudson answered.

"Well, now I do." Sherlock answered.

"So, take him some other time." Mrs. Hudson said snippily. "This is the only bit of peace I get with you underfoot all the time."

"Come now, Mrs. Hudson." He said. "This is the only free time I have all day."

"Really?" She asked disbelievingly.

"Yes. My tutors are quite strict with my education and I have tons of book work to get done this afternoon." He answered.

"You'll keep your mouth shut?" Mrs. Hudson threatened. "And not complain about how long we're there or how slow we go?"

"Of course." Sherlock said with a charming grin plastered to his face.

Mrs. Hudson sighed heavily before gesturing toward the back seat. John began walking toward them again and raised his eyebrow at the look of irritation on Mrs. Hudson's face. "He wants to come along."

They drove through town in an awkward silence until they arrived at the park. John helped Met out of the car and gave Mrs. Hudson his arm as they began walking slowly around the familiar landscape. John watched in interest as Sherlock got bored after about five minutes and started darting off to explore things that caught his interest. John and Mrs. Hudson fell into their normal routine and chatted as the other boy hopped in and out of the conversation.

"What in the world as gotten into that boy?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"You'd know better than me." John said shrugging. John liked watching the minutes of intense concentration that settled on the other boy's features until he solved whatever problem he had going on in his head before flying off to look at something else. They settled at their normal café and John went to get beverages for everyone.

"Why Metacarpal?" John asked curiously.

"I'd just broken a few of mine when Mother brought him home." Sherlock answered. "It seemed fitting."

"How'd you manage that?" John asked.

"Boxing class." Sherlock answered with a shrug.

"You box?" John said impressed.

"They demanded that I have an extracurricular activity." Sherlock answered. "It seemed like a suitable choice."

"Remind me never to piss you off then." John said with a laugh.

"I bet you could hold your own." Sherlock smiled. "What with being on the Rugby team."

"How'd you know that?" John asked.

"I deduced it from your stance." Sherlock said evenly.

"You're having me on." John said.

"I'm quite serious." Sherlock said.

"Just from the way I stand?" John asked.

"Yes." Sherlock said. "Deducing people is what I do. That's why I can easily tell you that you spent your entire childhood in this same town only traveling once in the summer to a relatively well-known destination probably Paris or Rome. You had minimal orthodontia as a child but the braces were taken off earlier than was recommended by the dentist most likely due to money issues judging by the state of your clothing. You spend very little time on a computer in your free time and hand write most of your essays that are assigned at school judging by the knot on the middle finger of your left hand. You and your mother both work long hours with your sister often gone from the house so you don't actually see each other regularly on a daily basis. That's obvious by the many times you come to work with the tag sticking out of the back of your shirt. If your mother or sister had noticed, they would have fixed it for you."

John sat back in shock watching as the other boy resolutely refused to look at John, "That was…amazing."

"Was it?"

"Yes, it was. You know it was." John said with a wry grin.

"That's not what most people say." Sherlock said finally meeting John's eyes.

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss off."

John giggled slightly and then tried to swallow down the embarrassing sound feeling his cheeks flush a bright red.

Mrs. Hudson had the strangest look on her face when they stood a few minutes later to return with Met to the house. John was too busy to really focus on her though. He spent the entire drive back to the house asking Sherlock to deduce the people around them.

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Sherlock spent the afternoon working with his tutors but couldn't help but gaze out the window every few seconds to watch John continue his work on the front lawn. He was surprised at how much he enjoyed himself that morning especially when John had asked him to show off his well-honed talent. It was immensely flattering. He'd never really had anyone think his deductions were amazing before. Useful, sure. Freakish, he'd heard that more than once. But, amazing? That was new.

He let his mind wander back to John's giggle that morning as he parroted back the German his tutor was speaking. He remembered the little jolt that ran up and down his spine at that sound and how he desperately wanted John to laugh like that again. Very soon.

He looked out at John again appreciating the view of the shirtless boy. He hadn't realized that he'd been staring until he heard Mycroft clear his throat behind him causing him to jump slightly.

"What?" Sherlock growled.

"Taking an interest in your pet, Sherlock?" Mycroft said smirking.

"He's not a pet, Mycroft!" Sherlock said offended and felt his cheeks flush bright pink at Mycroft's raised eyebrow.

"I was talking about Metacarpal." Mycroft said smugly. "But considering the view from up here, perhaps there were some ulterior motives to this morning."

Sherlock's tongue got all tied up in his mouth and he could only throw his textbook at his brother in response.

"Very eloquent." Mycroft answered. "I just came to say goodbye. I'm going back to London."

"Good riddance."

"Now, Sherlock." Mycroft said with a mock frown. "That hurts."

"Yeah, right." Sherlock snorted.

"Try not to get into any more trouble." Mycroft said heading toward the door. "You know how it upsets Mummy."

Mycroft closed the door before Sherlock could answer. Sherlock turned back toward the window but John had finished up in the front and had left. Damn. Now he had nothing to distract him from the boring tutors.

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John walked into the house and tossed his gross shirts in the hamper by the washing machine before turning to head toward the living room. He thought he heard the television and wanted to chat with his Mum. It seemed like ages since they interacted anymore than just a wave in passing. He turned the corner to say hello when he found the area empty. He sighed heavily and switched off the telly. Harry must have left it on before she went out. He climbed the stairs to take a shower smiling at the clean sheets his Mum must have found time to put on his bed. He cleaned up quickly and called Lestrade to see if he wanted to hang out for a bit.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Lestrade, is Greg in?"

"Oh, John! Hello." She answered. "I'm sorry but he isn't. Him and his father went on an impromptu fishing trip."

"Oh." John answered.

"He should be back Tuesday evening."

"Alright. Thanks."

"Goodbye!"

"Bye."

John dropped the phone in the charger and looked around feeling bored. He wandered into the kitchen to pop a bag of popcorn before settling on the couch to watch the telly. He was three quarters of the way through some film about demon-fighting brothers when the phone went. He walked to the kitchen and picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello?"

"Is anyone there?"

"Right then." John said placing the phone in the cradle and collapsing back onto the couch. He must have dozed off because the next time he looked, the sun was beginning to rise. He jerked up and ran to get dressed before Mrs. Hudson showed up. He was back down stairs to grab a bit when he veered towards his mother's room. He knocked lightly and opened the door to find her sleeping. He went back to the kitchen to leave a note on the table before grabbing his bag and stepping outside just as Mrs. Hudson pulled up.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson." He said with a smile.

"Good morning, dearie." She answered.

"What are we doing today?" He asked.

"I think I'll have you work in the private living area today." She said.

"Really?" John said curiously. He'd only ever work in the Great Rooms of the Manor. The ones that are prepared for guests and formal meetings. For the most part, Mrs. Hudson handled the actual living areas of the residents herself. "What am I going to be doing?"

"Mrs. Holmes wants to repaint the living room. You can help move furniture, throw down tarps, and paint today." She said.

"Alright." He said. "I can do that."

They made it to the house and John entered the residential wing for the first time. He had a pretty reliable sense of direction so he made it to the living area relatively easily. He did, however, have to do a double take at what the Holmes family actually considered a "living area". The room was filled with tables stacked full of books, beakers, laptops, pipettes, and, oddly, a skull. The rest of the space was filled up by seven different filing cabinets, a sofa, and three chairs. Basically, the room was filled with stuff and it was his job to get it ready for painting. He puffed out his cheeks in mild frustration because he wasn't even sure where to begin. He was also slightly concerned at how fragile some of the chemistry sets seemed.

"Right," He said to himself. "Find Mrs. Hudson immediately."

He was just turning on his heel to chase after the landlady when he heard Mrs. Holmes call after him.

"Ah!" She said. "You've found us, John. Welcome to the residential area."

"Thanks." He said glancing around again with a resigned sigh. "So we're painting today?"

"Oh, John!" She said with a laugh. "That's adorable. No, it'll take us the better part of the week to even clear the space."

"Right." He said glancing around again. "Where do I start?"

"We'll store most of the files and chemistry equipment in the sun room down the hall." She said looking at the mess. "It might take awhile. You can start there."

"Fine." John said.

"Mind the vials full of chemicals, but everything else should be relatively safe." She said before turning down another hall.

"Fantastic." John said to himself before grabbing a stack of files. He was making what seemed to be his hundredth trip back and forth between the rooms when he turned to find Sherlock about a foot away.

"Again with the sneaking thing?" He said after picking up the books he'd dropped.

"It's a gift." Sherlock said with a shrug and a grin.

"So, what are you and your tutors up to today?" John asked as Sherlock followed him down the hall.

"I haven't the faintest idea." Sherlock said. "I sort of slipped my leash about an hour ago."

"Why are you having classes in the summer anyway?" John asked curiously.

"Because my mother thinks it will keep me from getting bored." Sherlock said. "At least more bored than I already am."

"Sounds bloody boring if you ask me." John said. "School all year round would drive me barmy."

"So what do you do?" Sherlock asked. "During the summer?"

"Besides work?" John said. "Mostly hang out with my mates, play Rugby."

"Where did you work in the summers before this?" Sherlock asked.

"Umm…" John said turning to grab some more files. "I worked with my dad. He ran a motel chain a few towns over. I would help with check-ins, paperwork, stuff like that."

"That doesn't sound very interesting either." Sherlock said

"It wasn't really." John shrugged. "What about you? Pastimes? Hobbies?"

"Experiments." Sherlock said collapsing into a chair.

"Any specific area of focus?" John asked.

"Anything, everything." Sherlock answered. "I'm currently working on the rate of decomposition in detritus in a constantly moist environment."

"Do tell." John asked.

For the next six hours, Sherlock talked and talked and talked to John. He explained about his current experiments (all 20 of them), his plans for University, his deductions regarding the staff, his tutors, his neighbors. John stopped to grab his lunch and Sherlock trailed after him to the kitchen chatting away as John nodded and smiled and laughed on cue. He couldn't help but giggle as Sherlock explained how he ended up finding Anderson in the supply closet.

"Hello boys." Mrs. Hudson said with a plate of biscuits and pot of tea. "I thought you might like a cuppa. This place looks great, John."

"Thanks Mrs. Hudson." John said collapsing on the couch. "I should be able to get all of the filing cabinets moved tomorrow."

"Well," Mrs. Hudson said. "I'll leave you boys to it then. John, whenever you're ready I'll be in the workroom. No rush. I'll just be doing paperwork."

Sherlock picked up the conversation once Mrs. Hudson scurried off explaining to John the importance of accurate blood spatter analyses to determine the height of murderers. John drank his tea and listened to Sherlock for another hour before glancing at the clock and standing up.

"I better get going." John said stretching.

"Alright." Sherlock said glancing around awkwardly.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?" John asked.

"Nothing definite." Sherlock replied. "Why?"

"I just thought you might want to follow me around again tomorrow." John shrugged.

"I'll check my social calendar." Sherlock said with a wry grin.

"See ya, mate." John said before walking out to find Mrs. Hudson. He found her in the kitchen having tea with Mrs. Holmes.

"John!" Mrs. Holmes said with a grin.

"I brought down the tray." John said setting it down by the sink. "Hey, Mrs. Holmes."

"Did Sherlock talk your ear off?" She asked, a funny sort of bemused look on her face.

"It was fun." John shrugged. "He's bloody brilliant."

He shifted awkwardly as the two ladies stared at him with a matching look of glee that he couldn't really interpret at all.

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**Sherlock, you're such an adorable guy!**

**Another giant THANK YOU to everyone continuing to take an interest in my little story. I really appreciate it! It gives me the warm and fuzzies. **


	9. Chapter 9

"I don't really think that Met would appreciate you drugging him," John said with a disapproving look. "No matter how much it would benefit your theory."

"But it's for science, John!" Sherlock argued.

"Nevertheless." John said. "I think we'll let someone else confirm your theory. Send your thesis to Oxford."

"Experimentation is the only way to grow as a scientist, John." Sherlock said.

John glanced over at the boy lying flat on his back in the middle of the empty living room. It had taken three days to get everything cleared out and he had given up his Saturday to start working on painting.

"Why don't you experiment on learning how to paint a wall, you arse?" John said grinning.

"I'm much more suited to the managerial occupations, John." He said with a wave of his hand.

"You just like bossing people around." John shot back as he continued rolling paint onto the wall. "At least open the windows. The air is almost toxic."

He heard Sherlock roll to his feet and crack open the windows. Feeling something hit him lightly in the back of the head, he turned to find Sherlock's fingers coated in pale green paint.

"I may not be a bloody genius," John said prowling toward the taller boy. "But I think even I can deduce what is dripping through my hair right now."

"Well done, John." Sherlock said smirking.

John reached out and rolled a line of green paint down Sherlock's arm. The look of shock Sherlock's face was priceless, causing a giggle to slip from John's lips.

"You think you're funny, John?" Sherlock asked.

"I think I'm hilarious." John smiled wickedly.

"I would beg to differ." Sherlock said running a hand down the roller and swiping a line over John's cheek.

"Well," John said, rolling another line down Sherlock's forehead. "You can't be right all the time, genius."

"On the contrary," Sherlock said taking a big step into John's personal space. "I'm right about everything."

Sherlock ran a paint-smeared hand over John's other cheek and suddenly the air seemed a bit thicker than before and a bit…electric. They stood centimeters apart watching each other intensely. John rocked forward on his heels slightly and felt his heart skip as Sherlock mirrored his action. He felt Sherlock's breath lightly on his cheek as they moved even closer together. John rested his free hand on the taller boy's hip and shivered as Sherlock rested a hand on John's neck. They jumped away from each other at the sound of heels on the hard wood floor.

"John," Mrs. Hudson said walking into the room. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," John said fighting the blush that had covered his face and neck.

"Boys," Mrs. Hudson tutted. "Don't make a mess, please."

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said from his place in the middle of the floor. "See you Monday, John?"

"Yeah, definitely." John said with a smirk.

"You look a bit flushed." Mrs. Hudson called when they got in her car. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," John said. "Probably just the fumes."

"So…" She said. "You and Sherlock seem to be getting on pretty well."

"He's an awesome bloke." John said.

"Well," She said. "I'm glad for it."

John walked into the house and smiled as he heard his mother in the kitchen.

"Hey, Mum!" John called.

"John!" She said happily. "I'm making quesadillas. Do you want one?"

"Sure." He said walking in.

"Sweetie!" She said. "You're covered in paint!"

"Oh, sorry." He said. "I'll just get cleaned up."

"Eat first." She said. "You look dead on your feet."

"I'm alright." He answered, collapsing in a chair. "Hey, I'm taking tomorrow off if you want to hang out or something."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She grimaced. "I'm working another double tomorrow."

"I could bring lunch in if you want." He said.

"That's alright." She said plating up the food. "We'll catch up soon."

"Right." He said quietly. "Where's Harry?"

"You know your sister." His mother said with a fond smile. "She's such a passionate person and she's taken your father's death so hard. She'll figure herself out. Just you wait. She'll be brilliant."

"I'm gonna go get cleaned up." He said with a sigh after finishing his meal. "Wanna watch some telly after?"

"I'm knackered." She said. "I'll probably be in bed when you get out."

"Alright." He said. "Goodnight, Mum."

"Goodnight."

John climbed the stairs slowly feeling a strange clenching ache in his gut that he couldn't quite give a name to. He took a long shower scrubbing at the paint on his face roughly. He put on a pair of pants before crossing the hall and falling into bed. He lay there letting an ecstatic grin settle on his face. He'd almost kissed Sherlock. Sherlock Bloody Holmes. The crazy, gorgeous git who had been following him around for days and had almost kissed him back. He felt desired for the first time ever and the rush was like fizzing warmth all over his body. He tossed and turned against the sheets having trouble sleeping with the excitement of the day still gripping him tightly.

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Sherlock lay back on his bed and analyzed the day he'd spent with John. He'd never in his life describe himself as playful before but the sight of John on the step ladder stretching up to reach showing the delicious line of his lower back turned Sherlock positively gleeful. He could still feel the slightly warm pressure of John's fingers on his hip and shuddered at the memory. He swallowed heavily as the image of the shorter boy's eyes staring in to his, pupils blown, caused a pulse of warmth in his groin. He let that thought grow and flourish in his mind as he reached down to palm himself gently. Sighing, he stroked lazily against the cotton of his pants. He heard the ping of his mobile go but ignored it, he was more amiably preoccupied. He pushed his pants down off his hips to free his erection as he began pumping slowly. He rubbed his free hand over his nipples and imagined John's golden skin rubbing against his own causing a slight moan to slip past his lips. He thumbed the tip of his cock feeling the pre-come coat his fingers sending shivers of electric delight over his skin. He let the details of John's muscles rippling jolt him into increasing the speed and grip on his own cock until he started writhing and gasping with need bucking his hips in time. A dozen more thrusts and he felt his mind spasm out of control as semen coated his hand and stomach. Feeling the post-orgasm haze calm his mind, he wiped off with a flannel before righting his pants and drifting off to sleep.

Sherlock jerked awake at the sound of his door slamming. His eyes flew open as something warm and heavy landed on him and began tugging at his pants.

"Answer your phone." Jim growled.

"Get off." Sherlock said pushing him away and fixing his pants.

"You can't still be angry about that whole 'leaving you at the club' thing." Jim scoffed. "Don't be such a child."

"I'm not being a child." Sherlock said. "I just didn't want to see you tonight. You spent all week ignoring my other texts and I decided that I wanted to ignore you tonight, so leave."

"I didn't steal a car to break into your house just to have you kick me out." Jim said darkly. "Come out with me."

"No," Sherlock said lying back down and pulling the covers up. "Get out."

"Now you're just being a cocktease." Jim said reaching for the duvet and failing to pull it back because of the iron grip Sherlock had on it.

"Listen, fuckslut." Jim growled. "I'm going out of town for two weeks. Now I don't mind leaving here and taking my hot arse and lovely drugs with me, but how do you think you'll do without anything for that long. I know that you are dangerously low on supplies."

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"That really is none of your business." Jim said. "So are you going to invite me under your covers or not?"

Sherlock did the math in his head quickly and then let go of his iron grip feeling Jim rip them back and climb on top of him. He felt his arousal flood through him as Jim shoved his tongue roughly down his throat and nipped and bit at his lips. And he felt the searing heat burn through his system as they fought for domination. Sex with Jim was always like this: hot and hard and rough. And Sherlock couldn't get enough.

He lay back against his pillows as he plunged the needle into his arm letting the delicious heroin bleed into his system leaving him numb and warm. Jim had left shortly after fucking him and handing him the drugs and it had been child's play to get the needle prepped and ready. He let his head loll to the side as the drug burned away the constant drumming of his mind. The freedom was sweeter than air and more precious than gold. Fuck, heroin made him wax philosophic. He felt a subtle wave of uncertainty overwhelm him as he remembered the look on John's face when they spoke about drugs and alcohol last week but a warm smile plastered itself over his face as he remembered that John wasn't coming into work tomorrow. John wouldn't see him like this. He could keep it a secret. With that decision made, he let go of anything and just drifted on the warm sea of chemical stimulation.

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John and Lestrade went out for lunch on Sunday at a pizzeria on the other side of town. Neither of them had a car or enough spare change for a cab so they set out early and walked the three miles to the pizza place. Lestrade shared stories about fishing with his Dad and John studiously did not mention his almost-kiss with Sherlock Holmes. The memory still made his cheeks flush lightly and a stupid grin plastered itself to his face whenever the thoughts infiltrated his mind.

They ate slowly enjoying the air conditioning and free refills while bullshitting about next semester. They were walking back through a bit of a dodgy neighborhood when John heard someone calling after him.

"Johnny Boy!" A voice called. "Hey, Pet!"

John turned around with a raised eyebrow coming face to face with Jim.

"Look how cute." The other boy sneered. "It even responds like any other dog."

"What?" John said already tired of the dark haired git.

"I just wanted to say hi to our little pet." Jim said.

"Don't call me that." John said between clenched teeth.

"Relax, Johnny Boy." Jim said placing a hand on John's shoulder. "It's just a joke."

John shook off the hand before staring back and stating again, "What do you want, Jim?"

"Sherlock says hi by the way." Jim continued.

"I saw him yesterday." John answered rolling his eyes.

"I did too." Jim said with a knowing look. "I must say, he was very…enthusiastic…during my visit."

John felt his face burn and tried to shrug off the strange twisting feeling in his chest. He bit out an awful, "That's nice."

"I thought so too." Jim said. "It's so wonderful mixing business with pleasure. Sherlock's my best customer, you know."

"Right." John said oddly. "We've got to go. Come on, Greg."

He turned away and practically dragged Lestrade down the street.

"Don't worry, Pet." Jim called. "I'll take good care of him."

They walked the rest of the way back in silence until John closed the door behind them into his own house.

"What exactly was that about?" Lestrade asked.

"I honestly have no idea." John said.

"Who was that git?"

"Sherlock's boyfriend, I guess." John answered trying to ignore the hitch in his throat. "Seems completely barmy."

"Seems completely psycho if you ask me." Lestrade said. "Wanna watch the game?"

"Sounds great." John said. "Soda?"

"Yeah, thanks."

John grabbed the soda and turned on the telly finding the game. He barely saw the score or any of the plays as embarrassment and sadness fought for dominance in his head.

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**If I could punch Jim in the throat, I totally would. **


	10. Chapter 10

"Sherlock?" His mother called. "Do you have any idea why the lock to the conservatory entrance is broken?"

"No idea." He drawled, turning back over to go to sleep.

"That's odd." She called through the door. "Get up soon please, your violin tutor will be here in an hour."

Sherlock grumbled in reply but dragged himself out of bed anyway. John should be here soon. He glanced at himself in the mirror before hopping in the shower and was pleased. He couldn't detect any sign of his recent drug use which meant that no one else would be able to tell either. He dressed quickly and made his way into the living area to find John already at work painting.

"Morning." He said before collapsing in his usual place in the middle of the floor.

"Morning, Sherlock." John said without turning around.

That was all the invitation he needed. He began to tell John about his most recent theories involving the different types of coffee beans and their physiological effects on the brain. He loved talking to John because John listened, really listened to him. He'd never had that happen before. His classmates, when his mother actually enrolled him in a school, ignored him or teased him, Mycroft looked down on him and his work, his mother was busy with her own delicate research, his father was away on business all the time, and Jim mocked him for his interests. But not John.

John would smile and laugh and ask questions, even if they were incredibly asinine. He would throw in surprisingly intelligent commentary occasionally and challenge Sherlock to explain his theories in an exciting way. It was novel and wonderful and it made Sherlock feel…important.

"And that's exactly why you should never order linguini in a restaurant that allows their staff to wear ties with caricatures on them." He finished with a flourish.

"Brilliant." He heard John say sending a shiver through his whole body. He observed as John finished with the final roll of paint. "I'm off to lunch."

Sherlock rose and stopped John with a brush of his fingers along the shorter boy's forearm. "John, I would like to continue our actions from the other day."

He stepped closer crowding into John's personal space and placing his hands on both sides of his neck to pull him in and was confused as John twisted away. "Don't, Sherlock."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked curiously trying to get close to John again. "I know you're interested."

John stepped back again and put up his hands, "You have a boyfriend."

"Oh please, John." Sherlock said. "Jim isn't my boyfriend. Now come here."

"So you're not sleeping with him, then?" John asked, obviously already knowing the answer.

"What does that matter?" Sherlock asked confused.

He watched as John puffed out his cheeks and seemed to steel himself for something, "It does matter, Sherlock. I'm not going to snog someone who's having sex with someone else."

That's incredibly archaic, John." Sherlock said rolling his eyes and beginning to get irritated.

"Even so." John swallowed. "That's just how I am. We can still be mates, but we're not going to do that."

"You're being an idiot." Sherlock said before walking off down the hall. "I thought you said we were going to lunch. Come on, then."

He heard John follow him through the house and into the kitchen. He began talking to John about the rates of decomposition of organic twine as opposed to processed twine and was pleased as John continued to answer back and laugh and smile. Sherlock fell back into their familiar conversation patter easily but felt a twinge of disappointment anyway.

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After their little talk upstairs, John felt better but still a bit vulnerable. It was surprisingly easy to fall back into their routine and he grasped at it desperately as he watched the infuriatingly gorgeous genius describe mould growth patterns with a fond smile.

The next four weeks flew by for John. He was working extra hours for the money, of course. It had nothing to do with the almost constant presence of Sherlock wherever he was working. The other boy seemed to have no end of topics to discuss and pick apart. It got to the point where if Sherlock's mother or tutors were looking for him, they just found out where John was working that day and more often than not, there they'd find the genius lounging about near John chattering away causing the blond to giggle. John began bringing extra food for his lunch and slipped it to Sherlock to get him to eat something. He was so bloody skinny. If John slipped a carrot or slice of cold pizza in the genius's hand while he was explaining the appropriate steps to take when sanitizing chemistry equipment, Sherlock would eat without even realizing it. Sherlock began making routine trips to the house to get bottles of water for his friend when John was spending the day working outside. And if Sherlock took extra time watching John when he had his shirt off or John felt comfortable brushing the grass from Sherlock's curls, well, no one seemed inclined to mention it.

Sherlock was in the middle of explaining the usefulness of staying up to date on any road construction and appropriate detours one afternoon while John was planting a tree in the garden when they both turned at the sound of someone calling Sherlock.

"Hey Sherlock!" Jim said happily. "Did you miss me?"

"Where've you been?" Sherlock asked. "You said you were only going to be gone two weeks."

"Some things took a bit longer than I had anticipated." Jim shrugged. He pulled at Sherlock's head roughly dragging him into a biting kiss. "Shall we get down to business?"

John tried to ignore the flickering glance that Sherlock sent his way before turning back to Jim, "Sure."

Jim turned away gripping Sherlock's elbow as he began walking. Sherlock turned back to John, "See you tomorrow."

"Yes, Pet." Jim said snarkily. "You're still not invited."

John went back to work trying to ignore the sense of abandonment that seemed to grip his insides. He spent the rest of the afternoon working steadily and tried not to flinch when Mrs. Holmes came out looking for Sherlock.

"Is he not out here, then?" She asked.

"Ah, no." John said simply. He was very aware of the household opinion of Jim but he didn't really feel that it was his place to give up Sherlock's location.

"Well, if you see him, could you ask him to come find me?" She asked.

"Yeah, if I see him." John lied.

"Thanks John." She said.

He, in fact, didn't see Sherlock the next day. He did, however, hear him. He'd just arrived for the day with Mrs. Hudson and as they walked in the house, they could hear the shouts four rooms over.

"You turned on the GPS in my cell phone!" Sherlock shouted at the top of his lungs.

"You're damn right I did!" Mrs. Holmes screamed back. "What the hell are you thinking, Sherlock? Are you even using protection?"

"It's my business whether I do or not!" Sherlock answered. "Why can't you just fuck off and leave me alone?"

"When I don't have to drag you out from under some drug-dealing maniac at five in the morning, maybe I will!" She yelled. "Why are you so determined to ruin your life?"

"I'm not ruining my life!" Sherlock shouted. "I'm trying not to be bored all the time by you small people and your stupid fucking selves!"

"Well, you won't be bored for long, Sherlock!" She snapped back. "Because I called your father and he's on his way home."

"This is such bullshit!" Sherlock called out before stomping up the stairs and slamming his door loudly.

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John glanced at Mrs. Hudson who sighed heavily before directing him outside to work on repainting some benches. He worked through the morning and decided it would probably be best if he ate his lunch outside as well. He was watching the house when he saw a sleek black car pull into the driveway. He recognized Mycroft instantly and turned to analyze Sherlock's father. He was thin and willowy like his son with black hair cropped short over angular features. He looked so incredibly calm that it made John's hair stand on end. He was beginning to understand why the threat had worked on Sherlock so long. He painted three more benches before heading back to the house. He was expecting more shouting or stomping about. But as he entered through the side door it was like entering a barren crypt. There were no sounds, whatsoever. Nobody was talking or moving about or working. It was eerie. He tiptoed to the store room to find Mrs. Hudson and found it absent. He checked the kitchen next and found it deserted to. He'd decided just to wait by the car when he heard someone behind him. He turned to find Mycroft leaning against the doorway carrying a box.

"John." Mycroft said by way of greeting.

"Hey." John answered.

Mycroft strolled into the room and deposited the box on the counter before looking inside, "My brother's stash."

"What?"

"Sherlock's stash of drugs." Mycroft said again. "Father found them, all of them."

"Oh." John said, not really knowing what opinion he should actually be having on the subject.

"I worry about him, you know." Mycroft said absently.

"Is…is Sherlock alright?" John asked hesitantly.

Mycroft's eyes flickered to his face before staring back down into the box. "I can't say that he is, no. The symptoms of withdrawal, I'm told, are quite uncomfortable."

"Right." John said shuffling awkwardly. "I can't imagine that it would be."

"You don't have to imagine though, do you?" Mycroft cut in. "How many times did you have to take care of your father when he was attempting to get clean?"

John turned beet red and tried to swallow against the painful lump in his throat. "Enough."

"Families shouldn't do that, John." Mycroft said firmly staring into the box. "They shouldn't make it our job to clean up their messes over and over and over again."

"They probably shouldn't." John agreed quietly. "But when they do, we'll still take care of them."

"Why?" Mycroft asked, uncertain.

"Because we don't want them to suffer." John answered honestly. "As stupid and as selfish as they are, we can't stand seeing them hurting."

Mycroft turned to stare at John for a few seconds before glancing back down. "I've got to dispose of all this."

"Would you like some help?" John asked cautiously.

"Thank you, John." Mycroft said with a wry grin. "But no. I'll take care of it. Mrs. Hudson is sitting in the conservatory with Mummy and Father. She should be out soon."

"Alright." John said. "Thanks. I'll just go wait by her car. And Mycroft? For what it's worth…"

"I know, John. Thank you."

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**Okay, so I love the idea of Mycroft, who knows EVERYTHING, seeking advice from John. I hope you agree.  
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	11. Chapter 11

**Yay! If anyone is interested (because everyone seems excited about the amount of updating), I'm trying to stay five chapters ahead at all times. That way, if I want to back track to make minor changes for ideas further ahead in the story line, I can do that. So, I have 11 chapters posted, but have 16 chapters completed. That's why I update so often. I hope that makes sense and thanks again for taking the time to read my story!**

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"That's a spectacular idea, Anna." Mr. Holmes said. "Let's give the boy a friend to hang out with during his punishment."

"He's completely miserable, Bert." Mrs. Holmes answered. "And I think that letting him see his friend, his ONLY friend by the way. The only friend that boy has ever managed to have, might help."

"That's just enabling his bad behavior."

"We both know that our boys are much too intelligent for that mainstream, watered down crap to have any effect on them." She countered.

"And you honestly think seeing his friend will help?" Mr. Holmes asked. "He'll probably eat the boy alive. No one would want to hang out with him the way he is now."

"John's not just anyone." Mrs. Holmes said firmly. "He's a nice kid who doesn't look at Sherlock like he's a freak and we both know with his family history, he's not exactly clueless about the effects of addictive substances."

"And you trust him?" Mr. Holmes said.

"You haven't seen them together." Mrs. Holmes answered. "They are great for each other."

"What's your opinion, Mrs. Hudson?" Mr. Holmes said. "Mycroft?"

"That poor boy is going through enough as it is, Bert." Mrs. Hudson answered. "Let him have his friend."

"I don't think you should." Mycroft said firmly.

"You want to punish him more, do you?" Mrs. Holmes cut in.

"On the contrary." Mycroft said evenly. "I don't want to put that kind of responsibility on John. This isn't his family. These aren't his problems. We're asking a child, who has already dealt with so much this year, to act as a nursemaid and punching bag because we can't get through to him ourselves. I still think we should send him somewhere to get treatment. We are not equipped to handle this."

"John's practically family anyway." Mrs. Holmes answered. "His sister is just like her father and his mother when she's not working is out doing god knows what. We're the only stable thing in that boy's life right now. He's missing Sherlock just as much as Sherlock wants to see him. I think it will be good for both of them."

"I'll think about it." Mr. Holmes answered after a brief silence.

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The next week at Holmes Manor was that same eerie quiet. Mr. Holmes stayed in the house but John never caught a glimpse of him again nor any of the rest of the family. Granted, he was outside mostly doing odds and ends. Mrs. Hudson, he knew, was just trying to keep him out of the way. One day, she asked him to go outside and walk around the pond to make sure that there were no fallen branches that someone could trip on. That day, he just curled up against a tree and read. When he came back at the end of the day, Mrs. Hudson smiled sadly and patted him on the cheek. It was the second week since the incident and John was washing the windows of the Conservatory when he heard someone come up behind him.

"John Watson?" A deep voice asked.

John turned to see Mr. Holmes smiling tightly at him with a set of familiar gray/green eyes. "Hello, Mr. Holmes."

"I'm told you've been a great help these past few months." He said.

"Glad to be of help, sir." John said. "This is an amazing house."

"Yes," He said, patting the stone work. "I am quite fond of it. Grew up here. It's unfortunate that I have to spend most of my time in London."

"That has to be exciting though." John said smiling.

"Tedious mostly." Mr. Holmes smirked. "I spend way too much time in meetings and not enough enjoying the city."

John nodded awkwardly before asking, "Did you need me to do something? I'm just about done on the windows."

"Actually," Mr. Holmes began. "I was wondering if you might want to pop in to see Sherlock."

"Really?" John asked happily.

"It might be good for him to see some familiar faces that aren't constantly lecturing him." Mr. Holmes said. "What do you think?"

"I'd love to!" John grinned.

"Right then. I'll just escort you up." Mr. Holmes said. "Mind you, he's not in the best shape right now."

"I don't mind." John answered.

They walked quickly into the residential part of the house and John barely had time to glance into any of the rooms before they stopped at a door with a lock on the outside.

"I know it seems a bit much." Mr. Holmes answered. "But it's for his own good."

John didn't say anything as Sherlock's father knocked on the door. He heard a muffled shout for whoever was there to go away but Mr. Holmes just whipped out a key and slid it into the lock. He cracked the door open a bit.

"What part of 'go away' did you not understand?" Sherlock voice slipped through the crack.

Mr. Holmes nodded to John and pushed the door open a bit more. John slipped through and jumped a little when he heard the door lock behind him. He glanced around and wasn't surprised to see the shades drawn. Sherlock's eyes were probably insanely sensitive right now.

"Hey, mate." John called softly to the form burrowed under the duvet. He watched as the figure began thrashing inside the covers before Sherlock's curly head poked out and pinned his eyes on the shorter boy. John took in the black, swollen circles under his eyes, the stark paleness of his already pale skin, and the sharper angles of his face.

"What are you doing here?"Sherlock practically growled.

"Apparently," John said walking through the clutter to stand next to the bed. "I'm to keep your grounded arse company."

"I don't need company." Sherlock answered angrily. "I need about twenty pain killers and a sleeping pill the size of Russia."

"That bad, huh?" John answered.

"I haven't slept in three days, my entire body aches, I can barely open my eyes, and if I vomit one more time, I'm pretty sure my sick will include my kidneys and at least a foot of intestine." Sherlock mumbled.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" John asked.

"Would you be willing to strangle me until I pass out?" Sherlock asked. "That way I could at least be unconscious."

"I don't know about that." John said grinning. "But I can try what my Mum used to do when me and Harry were ill."

"I'm a genius, John." Sherlock snarled. "There's nothing your mother could have thought up that I haven't tried myself with thirty different variations."

"Grumpy." John said. "Do you want to try it or not?"

"Fine." Sherlock grumbled.

"Alright. Budge over." John crawled onto the bed and sat with his back against the headboard. He settled in and put a pillow on his lap. "Come here."

"Really?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

"I can go if you want." John said evenly. "And you can lay here in pain and bored to death."

Sherlock made a slow dragging motion pulling himself across the mattress looking so pathetic that it took all of John's self-control not to burst out laughing at the sight.

"Put your head here and face this way." John directed. He situated the genius with his head on the pillow in John's lap facing out to the rest of the room. Sherlock dropped heavily and curled into the fetal position protecting his still sensitive stomach. John ran his fingers lightly through the curls scratching at the scalp gently.

"This is hardly effective." Sherlock mumbled angrily.

"Just shut up and close your eyes." John said sternly.

Sherlock sighed heavily but slowly relaxed as John ran his fingers through the curls over and over again. He played with the black hair for about twenty minutes before Sherlock spoke again.

"That doesn't actually feel terrible." Sherlock admitted before burrowing his head deeper into the pillow.

"Did you just admit that I was right about something?" John asked astonished.

"Don't hold your breath about it happening again anytime soon." Sherlock said groggily. "It probably won't happen for another decade or so."

"I'll take it." John said. "And remind you of it daily."

"You're a sadist, John." Sherlock yawned.

John chuckled softly and kept playing with Sherlock's curls. After another ten minutes, he heard Sherlock's breath slow and the genius began snoring softly. He rested his head back against the headboard and closed his own eyes keeping the rhythm of his fingers even.

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There was something warm and soft pressed up against his nose when he woke several hours later. He inhaled deeply and let the smell of laundry detergent and skin tickle his nostrils. He snuggled closer taking another deep breath loving the way the smell seemed to soothe his whole body. He tried to push back the headache that was reforming behind his eyes. God, this was like the ten days from hell. He shifted trying to ease the tension in his back but it was like trying to fix the space shuttle with two paper clips and a piece of chewing gum. He rolled onto his back and cracked his eyes open. His heart seemed to skip a beat as he looked up into the sleeping features of John Watson. Delicious sparks of heat seemed to dance across his skin as he drank in the shorter boy's soft, blond eye lashes and stubborn chin.

This was different. He'd never felt like this about someone. This obsessive need to be in the same room, breathe the same air. He'd spent the last month making due with occasional brush of fingertips and visual feast of John's skin. He was so careful not to cross the boundary that John had set. More than wanting to grab a hold of the other boy, pull him close, and suck his way down that lovely golden neck, he wanted John to stay. To listen to him, laugh with him, be with him. He was terrified that pushing the line that John had set would cause John to walk away. He was frustrated and jumpy the day that Jim had shown up. He was three days past using up the last of his best stash and he was aching for a fix so bad that even the hidden look of disappointment on John's face wasn't enough to keep him from following after his dealer.

He grimaced as the memories of that twelve hour period swam to the surface of his thoughts. He'd felt so fucking good the minute he snorted the line Jim had prepped for him. His mind felt like it was running at full capacity and he had been determined to devote that focus to the feel of skin on skin and tongue, teeth, and lips against every part of Jim's body. They'd fought and fucked and took hit after hit until Sherlock's head felt like it might explode from the sensory overload. Jim had just pushed into him roughly for the third time when his mother had burst through the door. The miserable set of her beautiful features had seemed to slice into him as she witnessed her junkie son get buggered by a complete arse like Jim Moriarty.

He pushed away the memory and settled back against the blond who'd sat with him for the past six hours running those talented fingers through his sweat-soaked curls. He never wanted to move again. He just wanted to lay here surrounded by John's smell and body forever. He rolled back over and tucked his face into John's stomach before wrapping his arms around the other boys hips pulling him closer gently letting himself drop back into sleep.

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**Thanks again for reading and reviewing!  
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	12. Chapter 12

"Father…" Sherlock said shifting nervously from foot to foot.

"Don't, Sherlock." His father answered raising his hand as if to halt the words with the gesture. "I don't need to hear your excuses, your assurances, your scientific findings, or your lies. I don't need to hear why or that you promise to never do it again. I don't actually need for you to say anything because I already know everything you could possibly say."

Sherlock nodded slowly and stared at his bare feet. His father had called him down to the office about twenty minutes ago and had just been staring at him that entire time. It was disconcerting. He always felt like his father saw everything. Every flicker of emotion and shift in his eyes. The feeling was quite similar to being studied under a microscope. He hated it.

"You're confined to the grounds." His father said simply. "Indefinitely."

Sherlock just nodded stiffly keeping his eyes fixed to the floor.

"One more slip up, Sherlock." His father said heavily. "And I'll ship you off to a high security treatment facility for a year. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." Sherlock muttered quietly.

He was dismissed with a wave of a hand and strode down the hall and toward the conservatory. He couldn't go back to his room because Mrs. Hudson was cleaning it and he knew that Mycroft was prowling around somewhere determined to lecture him again if he was cornered. He glanced out the panes of glass when he saw John and his heart seemed to leap into his throat. He got up and walked quickly to where John was just finishing up mowing the lawn unaware of Sherlock's presence. He grinned impishly as he slithered over behind John just as he turned off the lawnmower and Sherlock poked him lightly on the back of the neck.

He smirked as John nearly jumped out of his skin and whipped around to throw a crooked smile at him.

"You're like a bloody cat." John said before changing the subject. "First day of freedom, then?"

"Hardly." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm confined to the grounds, probably until I die of old age based on the looks my father gave me."

"That's rough, mate." John said wiping his sweat-marked brow on his shoulder. "At least you're not stuck in your room anymore."

"The last four days weren't bad." Sherlock said not meeting John's gaze. John had been allowed to visit the rest of the previous week for a view hours at a time. John had made it his mission to keep Sherlock occupied after that. He'd brought film after film and had even convinced Sherlock to organize some of the clutter in his room.

"I knew you'd like _Jeeves and Wooster_." John said with a grin before leaning against a nearby tree. "God, I'm completely knackered. What are you up to on your first day of freedom?"

"No immediate plans."Sherlock shrugged. "What is Mrs. Hudson having you do?"

"She actually had to run into town for a bit." He answered.

"So, no urgent plans for you either?" Sherlock asked grinning.

"I guess not." John said, eying him suspiciously. "Why?"

"We could go for a swim." Sherlock suggested.

"Sherlock, I can't." John said with a sigh. "I'm actually supposed to be working."

"And you have nothing to do until Mrs. Hudson gets back." Sherlock answered firmly. "Now come on."

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John smiled hesitantly before trailing after him down one of the walkways that led to the pond. They stripped off their shirts quickly and jumped into the cool shaded water. Swimming about lazily for a bit, Sherlock was floating on his back when he was practically drowned by a wave of water crashing over him. He spat and sputtered and turned a glare on the blond giggling like mad a few feet away. What transpired next was the water fight of the century. Sherlock utilized complex math formulas to determine the proper trajectory and displacement of the water while John used his well-honed experience causing the boys to be evenly matched. Sherlock turned around to avoid a well-formed splash enabling John to tackle the genius into the water. He turned a smug smile on the other boy as he rose from the water sputtering.

"Gotcha." John said.

Sherlock dove at him, hooking those long legs around his own causing him to lose his balance and fall back into the water. He felt Sherlock's arms around his chest and let the taller boy drag him back to the surface. And he had trouble catching his breath after he broke the surface and met Sherlock's bright eyes. He shifted in Sherlock's grip a bit and felt the arm wrapped around his waist squeeze him just a bit tighter.

"Sherlock…" John whispered, feeling his skin flush.

His entire body seemed to shiver as Sherlock ran his free hand roughly through John's wet, blond strands letting it rest against the nape of his neck as he rubbed slow circles with his thumb. John ran his hands over Sherlock's back and felt the taller boy shudder in return.

"John, please." Sherlock pleaded resting his forehead against John's.

John felt himself come undone at feel of Sherlock's chest crashed against his. The contact was thrilling and warm and perfect. He felt his self-control fray as Sherlock placed a hesitant kiss on the corner of John's lips without breaking their eye contact. And he just let go. He so desperately wanted someone to want him back and here was Sherlock. Clutching at his skin and licking at his mouth, Sherlock focused those lovely eyes on him and then their lips were moving hot and smooth against each other. John felt his entire body pulse as Sherlock sucked on his bottom lip and slipped his warm, agile tongue into his mouth. He wove his fingers through those silky, wet curls and tilted his chin up to allow the taller boy more access. He let Sherlock nudge him back slowly guiding him out of the pond and laying him gently on the sun-kissed grass. He moaned as Sherlock laid down flush on top of him and began sucking and licking at his neck. John felt the friction of their hips fire delicious sparks of warmth along his skin. He laid a hand against Sherlock's hip and thrust up experimentally letting the sound of Sherlock's groan send heat to his own rapidly swelling cock. His mind seemed to shatter as Sherlock began licking his way across John's chest paying extra attention to his nipples sending bolts of electricity straight to his erection. Letting Sherlock explore and mark him, he lay back and kept a soft hold of Sherlock's curls. He felt Sherlock's hand rub over his aching cock gently and practically purred bucking his hips lightly into the touch. Suddenly, Sherlock grabbed for the waistline of John's track pants and the blond's hands were scrambling to grab at them as well to hold them in place.

He felt shame slither icily through his veins dampening the delicious lust that had previously been there. He blushed and turned away from the calculating stare that Sherlock pinned him with waiting for the taller boy to scoff and leave. They stayed like that for several seconds before Sherlock shifted positions to kneeling over him with his knees on either side of John's hips.

"You never wear shorts." Sherlock deduced quietly. "Not ever. You have no problem with not wearing a shirt so it isn't some vague sense of modesty. You're not regretting moving forward with me as is obvious by the fact that you didn't pull away from me, you just don't want to take off your trousers."

John swallowed heavily keeping his gaze locked firmly on a tree several meters away. But he could practically feel Sherlock's brain working trying to suss out this new development.

"Your scar." Sherlock muttered. "You don't want _me _to see your scar."

"I don't want anyone to see it." John whispered correcting him.

He jumped as he felt Sherlock reach out with one finger and unerringly trace the line of puckered skin beneath his trousers.

"John." Sherlock said lightly. "There's no reason to hide any of this from me."

"And why's that?" John asked curiously.

"Do you remember when I helped you mulch the garden?" He said quietly tracing light circles on John's abdomen with his fingers.

"Yes." John said turning to look at the genius caressing his skin.

"The ground was wet." Sherlock said simply.

"And?"

"The moisture had seeped up your trousers making them stick lightly to your skin. The scar was quite visible from the slight indent it made against your leg, if anyone was bothering to pay attention."

"And you were?"

"Of course I was, John." Sherlock said with a shrug.

"So what you're saying is…" John began

"That I could probably give a description of it with a 95% accuracy rating." Sherlock said. "That's why there's no reason to hide it from me. Because I already know everything about it."

"Oh." John said dumbly.

"I'm going to kiss you now." Sherlock said firmly.

"Alright." John said smiling.

Sherlock captured his lips roughly and spread on top of him again. John was reaching to stroke Sherlock's own hard cock when they heard a voice calling.

"John!" Mrs. Hudson called lightly.

Sherlock rolled off of him quickly and John scrambled to his feet just as the housekeeper turned toward the pond smiling at the two boys.

"I need help with hanging some portraits in the Formal Dining Room." She said happily. "I've marked them and they are sitting against their corresponding wall. Would you see to that?"

"Of course, Mrs. Hudson." John said awkwardly. "I'll just go dry off first."

"There are towels in the workroom, dearie." Mrs. Hudson called as John grabbed his shirt and began walking back toward the house.

Sherlock made to leave as well but Mrs. Hudson gave him a look that kept him there as she waited for John to get out of earshot.

"I know what you're up to." She said firmly after a backward glance to make sure that John was out of eyesight.

"I don't know what you mean." Sherlock huffed.

"Don't you lie to me, young man." She said. "I've been around your family enough to have picked up some perceptive skills of my own and I know a freshly made hickey when I see one."

Sherlock swallowed heavily but stayed silent.

"It's about time." Was all that Mrs. Hudson said.

"What?" Sherlock asked shocked.

"You two have been dancing around each other all summer." She said firmly. "It's about time you did something about it."

Sherlock felt his ears pink and stuttered incoherently.

"I will warn you though, Sherlock." She said seriously. "If you hurt that lovely young man, I will personally make it my mission to steal that stupid skull of yours and bin it somewhere you'll never find it."

Sherlock stared dumbly as she turned and walked slowly back to the house.


	13. Chapter 13

"Hey!" John called as he entered his house that evening. He hadn't been able to wipe that stupid grin off of his face all afternoon and it didn't seem to want to abate any time soon. He'd caught himself three times just staring into nothing as the memory of Sherlock's skin and tongue and scent danced in his mind incessantly. He was grabbing a soda from the kitchen when he heard Harry walk in.

"Hey John." Harry cried happily.

"What's wrong with you?" John asked bemused. He hadn't seen Harry this happy sober in a very long time.

"You'll never guess what just happened to me!" She said collapsing in a chair motioning for John to get her a soda too.

"What?" he asked.

"Clara and I are getting an apartment together!" Harry shouted gleefully.

"Huh?" John said dumbly.

"Honestly, John!" She said. "You could at least be happy for me!"

"I am." He hedged. "I'm just a bit confused. Who's Clara?"

"John!" She said, upset. "It's like you never listen to me! Clara's my girlfriend. We've been dating now for three months and she wants us to move in together. It's going to be so romantic!"

"You have a job then?" John asked.

"It can't be that hard to get one." She said, dismissing his concern with a wave.

"Well," John said. "I guess I'm really happy for you. When do you move?"

"The weekend you get back from London." She answered.

John stared oddly. "I'm not going to London."

"Sure you are!" She said. "Mum probably didn't tell you yet, but you're going to stay with Aunt Debbie for a week."

"How could you possibly know this before me?" He asked.

"Mum told me about it a few weeks ago." She said with a shrug. "I think it's like a belated birthday present or something."

"Okay." John said strangely. "So when exactly am I going?"

"Three weeks." She answered.

John was about to grill her for more information when his mother walked in. She smiled at her children and patted John lightly on the cheek. "Hey guys."

"Mum?" John asked. "Am I going to London?"

"What?" His Mum asked as her face flushed red.

"Harry said I'm going to visit Debbie for a week." John said.

"Oh, right." His Mum said with a wave. "It was supposed to be a surprise, Harriet. You've just been working so hard. I thought it might be good to get away and enjoy London for a bit before school starts up again."

"Oh." John said. "What about work?"

"John," His mother began. "I'm sure they won't mind if you take vacation. It'll be good for you. Debbie's very excited."

"Alright." John said. "I'll let Mrs. Hudson know tomorrow."

"Good." She answered. "How was your day?"

"Really good." John answered.

"What?" Harry cut in. "You have to tell me."

"What are you talking about?" John asked.

"Your face just turned like seven different shades of red." She said smugly. "Spill."

"Shut up." John said flustered.

"Oh," Harry said, a smarmy grin plastered on her face. "Who is it?"

"Shove off, Harry." John said. "I'm going to have a shower."

"You can't just leave, John!" Harry called after him. "Who'd you snog? Come on, you can tell me!"

John made his escape and jumped in the shower. There was no way he was ever going to discuss his…interest…in Sherlock with Harry. He cleaned up and changed into pajamas before going back downstairs. His Mum was just finishing dinner and for the first time in forever his family sat down to dinner. They talked and laughed like they hadn't done in years. Before Dad started drinking too heavily and Harry disappeared to spend time with her friends and John and Mum worked all the time. He climbed the stairs to get some sleep feeling bubbles of happiness floating around in his chest. He crawled under his sheets and let all of the goodness of the day carry him off to sleep.

He'd been having the most wonderful dream when he jerked awake as he fell out of bed. He hit the ground hard and couldn't gather his wits before someone was sitting on his back pinning him to the ground. He jerked and tried to dislodge the stranger and was almost successful before the assailant gripped his leg painfully exactly where the scar was. He managed a strangled yelp as a hand came around to clamp over his mouth. He gave one more violent jerk before collapsing against the floor again.

"You're rambunctious tonight, Pet." Jim whispered in his ear.

John shivered at the realization of whom exactly had him pinned to the ground in his bedroom in the middle of the night.

"How are you, Johnny Boy?" Jim continued. "Well, I expect, considering the pity thrust that Sherlock seems willing to throw your way. It really is unfortunate how attached people become to their pets."

John fought against the hold determined to show this prat how much he was not going to just lie here and listen to this complete arse drone on.

"Settle down." Jim said darkly. "Do you know why I'm here? Nod if you do."

John didn't do anything because he actually had no idea.

"You really are amazingly dim, aren't you?" Jim chuckled. "I guess I'll have to spell it out for you. I'm here to offer some advice: Take what Sherlock's offering while you can. Because let's face it, you're practically in heat for the bloke. But he won't want to play with you for long. He'll get bored. He gets bored with everyone. Except me, of course. Because I'm better. Better than you, even better than Sherlock. He'll come back to me because I offer something you don't. I'm a challenge, a brilliant, drug-dealing challenge. That means that he'll always choose me."

John jerked against the words but was unable to break the hold.

"Don't be so upset, Pet." Jim mocked. "It really is a feat in and of itself that you captured his interest for this long. And I'll let him play with you because the truth is, he needs me. Chases after me and I do so enjoy having someone so completely obsessed with me that they can't even think straight when they have my cock in their mouth. So, have fun while you can. He'll bugger you good, because I taught him and I'm the best."

John felt the words slither over his skin and felt his gag reflux go causing him to shudder violently.

"I see you're finally getting it." Jim continued. "I'll leave you now, Johnny Boy. But don't think I'll leave for long. After all, Sherlock does look so good with my cock up his arse."

Jim got up, leaving John free to turn over onto his back to stare up at the psycho.

"Bye now, Pet." Jim said with a word before sauntering out of the room.

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"John, are you alright?" Sherlock asked from his perch on the windowsill in the Great Hall. John was currently scrubbing the marble floor. It was a really quiet day in the Holmes household. Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Hudson were out purchasing some cabinet or something for one of the rooms. Mr. Holmes had returned with Mycroft to London the week before. There was actually no one else in the Manor. John walked over to stand before Sherlock running a hand over his cheek gently.

"Yeah," John answered. "Just a bit tired, is all."

"I can think of something to get your adrenaline going," Sherlock purred before pulling John into a soft kiss. And if it seemed to Sherlock like John clung to him a bit tightly or kissed him a bit desperately, he didn't comment on it. They held each other for a while before John pulled back to stare into those sharp eyes.

"Can I ask you a question?" John said quietly.

"Of course." Sherlock answered.

John swallowed heavily before dropping his gaze to the floor. "Jim…are you…I mean…do you still…"

"John," Sherlock said gently. "I don't need Jim. It will be easy to delete him from my mental hard drive. I need you. You're the only one I want."

John closed the distance again meeting Sherlock's lips with a searing kiss that left them both panting and warm. John ran his hands down the taller boy's chest before palming Sherlock's groin gently, smiling into the quiet moan that escaped Sherlock's delicious lips.

"Tell me what to do," John panted as he ran his hand a bit more firmly over Sherlock's growing erection before dropping to his knees to work on taking off the other boy's trousers and pants.

"Oh god." Sherlock whispered. "John, please."

John worked with shaking fingers to free Sherlock's cock before licking at the head gently. Sherlock gasped and ran his hand over John's blond hair fighting hard to even out his breathing and failing, "Lick…lick at the head of my dick."

John complied feeling his entire body flood with heat at the silky texture of skin against his tongue as he lapped at the hardening flesh. It turned a rosy color as all of the blood rushed to the area. He tentatively pushed the tip of his tongue against the slit and the groan that forced its way out of Sherlock's debauched mouth made him continue his ministrations over and over until Sherlock was shuddering and gasping against him.

"Tell me…" John said quietly. "Tell me what you want."

"Take me into your mouth."Sherlock gasped as he continued running those long fingers through his hair.

John let the hard erection slide between his slips as he gripped the base carefully continue to lick at the head while pumping with his hand gently. John could feel Sherlock's hips twitch lightly.

"Harder, John." Sherlock whispered with a strangled moan.

John pumped a bit more firmly keeping the same rhythm with his tongue feeling Sherlock began to shiver and twitch a bit harder.

"John…" Sherlock gasped. "I'm going to…I'm…oh god…John…_John!"_

John felt hot come flood his mouth with a bitter stickiness and swallowed reflexively. He glanced up at Sherlock to see him sweaty and shuddering and felt pleasure at the sight flood his system before Sherlock was pulling him up and into a piercing kiss that had John shaking as well.

"Come with me." Sherlock whispered against his lips before the taller boy wobbled to his feet and led John through the empty house and to his bedroom. Sherlock slammed his door and locked it before shoving John lightly but firmly until his knees were against the back of the bed. With a final shove, John collapsed onto his back and barely had time to draw a breath before Sherlock claimed his lips over and over again. Exploring every inch of visible skin with his tongue before sliding down his body to rest between his splayed open thighs, Sherlock turned a fierce grin in John's direction before opening the jeans and shifting them lower on John's hips. John felt his brain explode as Sherlock's tongue licked at his erection through his pants before mouthing at it gently.

"God." John breathed feeling electricity crackle over his skin. John lifted his hips as Sherlock eased his pants off his sensitive skin.

"John," Sherlock purred, so close to John's cock that the boy could feel the air shift against his erection as Sherlock exhaled. "Have you ever had someone suck you off?"

John shook his head unable to form coherent thoughts as Sherlock licked his cock from base to tip gently. He was trembling with want and didn't even catch the possessive expression that flitted across Sherlock's face before taking John's cock in his mouth.

"F...Fuck!" John yelped, twining his fingers in the sheets trying to sort out the sensation overload that had crashed through his mind. He immediately began panting and shivering as Sherlock began sucking him up and down doing impossible things with his tongue and teeth. John felt warmth coil in his chest and drop farther and farther down as his felt his need to come rising.

"Sherlock." John said brokenly. "Oh, fuck…oh my god…fuck…"

Sherlock gripped John's hips tightly holding him still as he swallowed John's cock into his throat. John felt his hips thrust upward as the heat and friction of Sherlock's mouth sent him over the edge. John let out a strangled moan as he bucked wildly held down only by Sherlock's hands as we came in a half a dozen giant pulses. He tried to regulate his breathing as Sherlock rolled off his hips and rearranged his clothing. The taller boy crawled up the bed to lie facing John on his side. John drew in a few more breaths of air before turning on his side to face the genius. Sherlock grabbed at the nape of his neck and pulled him into a rough kiss.

"You were supposed to help wake me up, Sherlock." John chided as they broke apart. "Not make me slip into a pleasure coma."

"You can't really blame me." Sherlock smirked. "I couldn't pass up the chance to see you like this."

"Like what?" John asked.

Sherlock tugged him closer before whispering against the shorter boy's lips, "Like you're mine."

**000000000000000000000**

**As is obvious by the content, this entire chapter was just an excuse for smut, smut, and more smut. Hope you enjoy reading it as I enjoyed writing it.**


	14. Chapter 14

"You can't be serious." John said firmly.

"On the contrary," Sherlock countered. "I'm very serious."

"I'm not going to do that, Sherlock." John answered. "Never. No matter how many times you ask me. I will never do _that._"

"I don't see how we can make this work if you are going to be such a complete child, John." Sherlock replied.

"I'm the child?" John said angrily. "You're saying that in this scenario, I'm the one acting like a child."

"Yes." Sherlock answered. "You need to live a little."

"You're saying I'm boring, then?" John asked.

"If the shoe fits…" Sherlock answered.

"I can't believe you're making me do this." John said sighing. "I feel so used."

"Don't whine, John." Sherlock said. "I couldn't pull this off by myself and you're my only option."

"Thanks, I feel flattered." John answered.

"You're welcome." Sherlock said. "Now do what I told you to."

John hung up the phone and turned to put on his trainers. He glanced down at the letters Sherlock had slipped into his work kit before he left the house that day. He'd called Sherlock the second he'd found them and had been told exactly what he was supposed to do with the missives. He felt like such a prat. He'd no idea why he was encouraging this awful behavior from his boyfriend. It was stupid and, based on John's instinct, incredibly dangerous. He'd wanted no part of it because if this little plan of Sherlock's was traced back to him, he knew that he would be on the receiving end of some serious trouble.

John walked quickly to the end of the block and dropped the bundle into the postal box with a clunk. He glanced around to see if he was being watched at all and made his way quickly back home throwing the lock behind him. He crawled into bed and felt anxiety skitter along his skin before falling asleep and having awful dreams about being chased by rabid honeybadgers.

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He was screwing in the final bolt to the new shelves in the pantry when he felt strong arms wrap around his waist and feathery kisses press lightly against the nape of his neck. He turned his wrist a few more times before dropping the screwdriver on his work kit and turning in Sherlock's arms placing a deep kiss onto his boyfriend's lips. They kissed lazily for several minutes before John pulled back and the genius took stock of the shorter boy's facial expression.

"You disapprove." Sherlock said simply.

"Well deduced." John said firmly rubbing small circles on either side of his boyfriend's hips.

"Why?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"You might break up with me when I say this," John shrugged. "But I actually like your brother and having 20 porn magazine subscriptions sent to his office is a bit not good."

"He was annoying me." Sherlock shrugged kissing down John's neck.

"That's fine." John said leaning into the caresses. "But leave me out of it. I don't want the whole of the British government tracing this back to me."

"Don't worry, John." Sherlock purred. "I'll make it up to you."

Sherlock traced the line of skin that peeked out where his shirt met trousers causing a shiver to jump up John's spine before he pulled away and placed a light kiss on the corner of Sherlock's mouth.

"You are going to get me fired." John giggled. "I do actually work here, you know."

"It is extremely convenient having you so close." Sherlock purred working a finger into the waistline of John's trousers.

"Stop it." John said pushing him back a little more. "Or you're going to make me come right here. I have to finish these shelves and then patch up some walls in the hallway."

"Are you saying you want me to leave you alone?" Sherlock pouted.

"Hell no." John answered. "But you can't distract me with that hot arse of yours. Why don't you fill me in on your latest experiments?"

They talked for hours while John worked. Sherlock even deigned to hold the bucket of spackle for him. Sherlock filled him in on recently completed experiments and the other new theories he had. They talked about the upcoming fall and how often John would come over to the Manor. Sherlock demanded every day and John thought that was a perfectly acceptable compromise. Sherlock asked John if he could measure skull and John agreed on the condition that it be completed after Sherlock ate an entire meal. John was washing up when Sherlock asked him when he was leaving for London.

"Not for another two weeks." John replied. "You ask me that every day. Do you expect the answer to change or something?"

"I would prefer that it did." Sherlock pouted.

"And how would you like it to change exactly?" John asked.

"I'm waiting for you to tell me that you're not going to leave me here for a week by myself." Sherlock whined.

"You'll be fine." John laughed. "You lived for almost sixteen years without me. You can make it a week."

"But I'll be so bored." Sherlock continued. "What will I do for 168 hours with you?"

"I imagine that at least a third of that will be filled with sleeping." John answered. "Or at least I hope it will be."

"Sleeping's boring." Sherlock answered.

"But necessary." John said. "And you'll have your experiments. You could even help Mrs. Hudson out while I'm gone. You watched me mow the lawn enough; you'll probably be an expert."

Sherlock scoffed and rested his head against the wall. "It's going to be so awful."

"You're such a drama queen." John answered.

"Am not." Sherlock complained.

"Are too, you gorgeous arse." John smiled before he realized exactly what had fallen out of his mouth.

"Really?" Sherlock purred, turning his sulky slump against the wall into a sultry pose showing off his lean features and wonderful arse. "Gorgeous?"

John flushed a bright, unforgiving red before turning back to his work. "Shut up."

"I think I would prefer to hear more." Sherlock said silkily leaning in toward John and running one of his hands over the shorter boy's back all the way to the curve of his arse and squeezing lightly.

"I hate you." John muttered.

"I highly doubt that." Sherlock said crowding closer and kissing the sensitive skin just below John's earlobe.

"Yes, I do." John said brokenly.

"I would be willing to bet my skull that you, in fact, do not hate me at all." Sherlock continued. "I would go so far as to say that you like me."

John swallowed heavily before placing his tools on the nearby table and murmuring slowly, "Right."

He moved quickly, pinning the taller boy against the wall before sucking and kissing roughly on Sherlock's neck becoming rougher as Sherlock began moaning and writhing against him. He let his hands roam freely running over Sherlock's hips, back, arse, even palming his crotch. He smiled smugly as Sherlock's desperate gasps became more and more frequent.

"You are, you know." John said feeling much braver now that he didn't have to look into those piercing eyes. It was easier to be honest when his words were interrupted by placing kisses and bites on the taller boy's skin. "You're gorgeous and brilliant and amazing. I could…god, Sherlock…I could do this forever."

"I could too." Sherlock gasped quietly causing jolts of fiery joy to rush through the blond. He pulled back to look into the pleasure-hazed eyes of the genius and tried to deduce the way Sherlock would. But he just wasn't as clever so Sherlock had to solve the riddle for him. His whole body tingled as Sherlock ran a hand lightly over his cheek. "Honestly, John. Forever."

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Sherlock pulled John into a deep kiss goodbye before wandering back up the stairs to his room. He opened his laptop to check on some facts regarding a recent theory that he wanted to experiment with. He let the grin that had been fighting for dominance on his face all afternoon free in the privacy of his own room. He was working steadily for close to an hour when his IM pinged.

_Jim: Got a new supply in. You interested?_

_SH: Fuck off._

_Jim: What's wrong? Feeling a bit frustrated?_

_SH: I'm not talking to you._

_Jim: Funny. Kinda seems like you are._

_SH: I will no longer be requiring your services. Take me off your contact list._

_Jim: Oh, please. Do you honestly believe that you'll never need drugs again?_

_SH: Yes. _

_Jim: That's hilarious. I don't think you'll last a month._

_SH: I don't really care what you think._

_Jim: Sure you do. You need me. _

_SH: I've never needed you for anything, ever._

_Jim: Have it your way, Sherlock. Be delusional if you want. But just know that I'll be around once you face reality and want to come crawling back._

_SH: Don't hold your breath._

_Jim: You forget that I know you. Everything about you. I know that you'll get bored. You'll want excitement. And that's where I come in. You have my number when you need me._

_Jim Signed Out._

Sherlock threw himself away from his desk and began pacing back and forth across his room feeling rage burn through his system. Jim was wrong. Sherlock didn't need drugs. He was fine. He was doing fine. He had cravings every now and then but that was normal. He was smart enough to deal with them. He was a fucking genius. He just had to stay busy. Stay focused on other things. How dare that maniac try to imply that he wasn't intelligent enough to deal with a simple drug addiction. That's child's play. He's not like other people. He's so much better. He's not addicted. He never was. He's choosing not to take drugs. That's all.

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"Mum?" John asked hesitantly. He'd found her on the couch watching telly when he'd gotten home that night.

"Yes?" She asked glancing at him with a small smile.

"Can I talk to you about something?" He said feeling a chill of anxiety spread over his skin.

"Of course." She said. "Come sit and let's talk."

"Okay." He said perching on the edge of the couch turning to face her.

"What's on your mind, sweetie?" She asked.

"I just…I feel like I need to…tell you about something." John said hurriedly.

"Are you alright?" She asked running a soothing hand on his back.

"I, um…I'm sort of dating someone." He said feeling a blush creep up his cheeks.

"Oh." She said quietly. "Do you like her?"

"It's not a…her, Mum." He whispered quietly.

"Oh, sweetie." She said pulling him close into a reassuring hug.

"You're not mad?" John asked.

"Of course not!" She said squeezing him a little tighter. "I love you, John. I love everything about you. Every part of you."

John relaxed into her grip and clung to her. "I just know that with Harry…"

"It's not quite the same situation is it, though?" She said. "I love you both for everything that you are. But finding your sister drunk, making out with someone in my bed was probably not the best introduction to your child's romantic attachments."

"So, you're not mad?" He asked.

"Of course not." She said, pulling away to look into his eyes. "I want you to be happy."

"I am." He said. "He's brilliant, Mum. I think I…well, I really like him."

Something John couldn't quite identify flashed over his mother's face before she smiled again. "Well, you're young, John. Protect your heart a bit, okay?"

He frowned a little but at the genuine concern on his mother's face, he just nodded and let her pull him close again.

"I love you so much, John." She murmured as she stroked his hair. "I only ever want what's best for you. You know that, right?"

"Of course." He answered. "I love you too."

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**Once again, I have to acknowledge the brilliance and awesomeness of my readers. You guys are so great and I am so happy that you are liking the story!  
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	15. Chapter 15

"Come on, Sherlock!" John called.

"This is stupid, John." Sherlock grumbled.

"It's not stupid." John said sternly. "It's what you're supposed to do for your Mum's birthday."

"I've no desire to celebrate anyone's birthday." Sherlock countered. "Let alone my prison warden's."

"Stuff it and get me the eggs from the fridge." John said. "You're so much work, Mrs. Holmes deserve a bloody aeroplane."

Sherlock sighed heavily but fetched them anyway. John added the eggs to the pan with green peppers, onions, and shredded potatoes. He'd shown up early to help Sherlock fix his mother breakfast for her birthday and Sherlock was being decidedly grumpy about it. He'd collapsed on a stool and promptly sulked for the twenty minutes that John had been working already. He deftly fixed toast, tea, and sliced strawberries while the eggs cooked. He plated the main course and placed everything neatly on a tray before turning back to his sulking boyfriend.

"Did you do what I told you to for a gift?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't lift his head from the countertop but reached into his dressing gown and thrust out a few wrinkled pieces of paper out for John to take. The shorter boy looked them over quickly before tucking them under the plate.

"Alright." John called. "Get your arse up and let's go make your Mum happy."

Sherlock took the tray that John pushed at him and drug his feet the entire way to the residential living area. John pushed him the last couple inches before hanging back in the entryway not wanting to intrude.

"Hello, Mother." Sherlock said. "John and I made you breakfast. Happy birthday."

Mrs. Holmes literally dropped her file folder at the sight of her taciturn, difficult son holding a tray with a full breakfast and a cup of tea. Her smile lit up the room as she took the tray from her son and pulled him into a tight hug. Sherlock patted at her back lightly but didn't pull away.

"Thank you so much, Sherlock." She whispered.

"You're welcome." He said awkwardly.

"This is so sweet." She said.

"There is a gift as well." Sherlock grumbled. "John made me do it."

She turned to inspect the tray and pulled out the crumpled pieces of paper. Mrs. Holmes let tears spill down her cheeks as she read the notes.

"When John asked me what I thought you might want, that was the first thing that came to mind." He said quickly. "I didn't actually think that John would make me do it."

"Sherlock Holmes, upon the holder redeeming this promissory note, agrees to work in the lab for a span of three hours as an assistant completing whatever tasks are asked of him with no complaints." Mrs. Holmes read with a wet smile.

John turned quickly to walk back down to the kitchen to do the dishes. He'd been a bit pushy about Sherlock actually doing something for Mrs. Holmes's birthday but was glad that he did after seeing the look on her face. He worked quickly knowing that Mrs. Hudson had an extensive list to complete before he went on vacation next week. He was just grabbing his work kit to scrub down one of the fountains that had been caked with algae when he heard someone calling his name. He turned to find Mrs. Holmes leaning against door to the work room.

"That was incredibly sweet, John." She said. "Thank you."

"It was no trouble." He shrugged. "I'm glad you enjoyed the gift. It really was Sherlock's idea."

"Still," She said. "I feel like I owe you a little something in return."

"It's your birthday, Mrs. Holmes." John said. "I was happy to help."

"Well," She said. "As your employer, I'm ordering you to take the day and spend it with my son. No work. Nothing."

"Really?" He asked.

"Yes." She said. "All I really want for my birthday is seeing my son happy and you do that, John."

"He makes me happy too." John said quietly.

Mrs. Holmes stepped forward and kissed him lightly on the forehead. "I'm so glad. He's wandering around the fountain already waiting for you to show up to work. Why don't you go surprise him?"

"Alright." He said dropping his work kit. "Thank you."

"Thank you, John." She said. "Have fun."

He made his way quickly to his boyfriend's side and felt giddy as Sherlock pulled him into a lazy kiss, "You owe me for that, John. I detest overly emotional displays."

"Shove off, you arse." John countered. "Your Mum loved it."

"So, cleaning a fountain." Sherlock said pulling away. "That sounds incredibly dull."

"It would be if that's what we were going to do today." John said with a sly grin.

"Really?" Sherlock asked matching that smile. "What are we doing?"

"Your Mum gave me the day off." He said. "I'm all yours."

Sherlock wrapped those long fingers around his neck and pulled him into another kiss sending heat skittering over his skin. They broke apart and Sherlock led him to the pond away from the windows of the manor. He poked and prodded until John was lying on his back on a patch of soft grass.

"Bossy, aren't we?" John giggled but complied happily. He fell silent as Sherlock rearranged his limbs opening his legs a bit wider before crawling over the shorter boy, resting his head on John's stomach with a sigh before arranging the rest of his lean body between John's legs and wrapping his arms around John's waist. He felt something catch in his throat as Sherlock burrowed a bit into his abdomen sighing happily and letting his eyes drift close. "You want to take a nap?"

"You're so…steady," Sherlock whispered. "It's like clinging to a strong tree in a wind storm. You make me feel safe."

John didn't reply but began running his fingers through his boyfriend's hair just letting himself relax into the morning sun and the feel of Sherlock clinging to him. He felt Sherlock's breathing even out as the taller boy began snoring softly. They lay there for most of the morning. Both dosing lightly, happy just being with each other. It was getting close to noon when Sherlock finally rolled off John to sit by the shorter boy.

"When do you leave?" He asked.

"Tomorrow afternoon." John said with a sigh.

"I don't want you to go." Sherlock said firmly.

"It's only for a week." John soothed running his hand over Sherlock's calf muscle. "I'll be back before you know it."

"But you're mine, John." Sherlock said quietly. "You can't leave."

John pushed himself off the ground and shifted to straddle the taller boy's legs before kissing him deeply. "I am yours, Sherlock. But my Mum bought the tickets and everything and I want to see my Aunt."

"Fine." Sherlock grumbled running his hands up and down John's back lightly. "I don't have to like it."

"Nope." John answered. "But you do have to kiss me. Right now. A proper 'I'll see you in a week' kiss."

"That I can do." Sherlock purred before gripping the shorter boy roughly and crashing their mouths together. They spent the rest of the day alternating between languid snogging and cuddling into each other never breaking contact. John was standing to leave when Sherlock pulled him into a heated kiss trying to make John change his mind with those talented fingers and addictive tongue. John pulled back gasping slightly and running his hands through those silky curls.

"I was thinking…" John said hesitantly. "That maybe when I get back…we could…you know."

"We could what?" Sherlock asked distracted by the feel of John's skin under his fingers.

"I just…" John swallowed nervously. "It would be my first time and…and I want it to be with you."

Sherlock's smile sent a sweet fire through John's veins and couldn't help but giggle into the kiss that Sherlock placed reverently on his lips.

"Is that a yes, then?" John asked.

"Oh, John." Sherlock breathed. "Please."

"That's settled." John said pulling away. "Come on. Walk me to the car."

They walked hand in hand around the house brushing against each other as they went. As they were about to turn the corner to meet Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock pulled him into one last deep kiss pulling the shorter boy so close, John was having trouble breathing, not that he really minded.

They broke apart and John tweaked his earlobe lightly. "Don't do anything stupid, you insufferable git."

Sherlock scoffed before kissing John's nose lightly. "I'm a genius, John. I'm incapable of stupidity."

John watched Sherlock in the side mirror as Mrs. Hudson pulled away from the Manor sighing with the knowledge that this was going to be the longest week ever.

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"I want you to have such a good time, Sweetie." His Mum said as she pulled up to the train depot.

"I will." John said happily.

"Give Debbie my best and I want you to really see London." She continued. "It is such a fascinating place and there is so much to do there. So many possibilities. Promise me that you'll go out and see the city."

"I will." John echoed.

"I just want you to love it there, John." She said.

"Okay, Mum." John said. "I'll see you in a week."

"Alright," His Mum said with a smile. "I love you."

"I love you too." John said.

John watched his Mum pull away before stepping onto the platform waiting for his train. He was excited to see London again, but he couldn't stop the sigh of disappointment of being away from his boyfriend for so long.

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"What are you going to do today, Sherlock?" His mother asked.

"Die of boredom." Sherlock answered glumly.

"Oh, Sherlock." His mother tutted. "It's only been three days."

"There's nothing to do." He whined.

"Why don't you go get some fresh air?" Mrs. Holmes said. "It'll do you good."

Sherlock sighed dramatically but picked himself off the floor of the living area and meandered outside to lay by the pond. He let his terribly unoccupied mind wander from subject to subject as he fought against the fidgeting need to do something before his brain atrophied. He was running the digits of Pi through his head when he glanced over at the sound of a branch breaking.

"Fuck off." Sherlock grumbled as Jim walked around the pond to stand beside Sherlock's prone form.

"That's rude." Jim answered with a giggle. "A bit put out?"

"I said fuck off." Sherlock said with more force.

"You are cranky today." Jim whistled. "Fighting against that addiction of yours?"

"I'm not an addict, you prat." Sherlock said pulling himself off the ground to face Jim.

"Of course you are." Jim shrugged. "Your family wouldn't have to keep you locked away if you weren't."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock grumbled.

"Prove it then." Jim challenged. "If you're not an addict, then one hit shouldn't send you spiraling out of control, should it?"

Sherlock felt a light sweat break out along his forehead and lower back. "I don't need to prove anything to you."

"Alright." Jim twirled away. "It's okay to admit that I'm right, Sherlock. I promise I won't tell anyone that I'm smarter than you."

"You are not." Sherlock growled.

"Really?" Jim asked innocently. "So you're not an addict who's afraid of being controlled by his need for chemical stimulation?"

"No!" Sherlock shouted.

Jim whipped back around to pin Sherlock with a challenging stare, "Prove it then."

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**Listening to Joshua Radin's "You Got Growin Up to Do". It seemed fitting.  
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	16. Chapter 16

"I'll hopefully see you soon." Debbie said pulling John into a tight embrace. "It was so nice having you here."

"I had a really good time." John said enthusiastically.

"Well," Debbie said. "I'll give your mother a call saying that you made it onto the train."

"Thanks." He said.

He boarded the train and settled into the seat giddy for the two hour long journey to end. He had a great time with his Aunt. They spent almost every day out exploring the city. She took him to her favorite parks and restaurants. They went to see several films and went shopping for some new trainers and clothes for the new semester. He loved spending time with his father's sister. She was so interesting and engaging. They talked for hours about anything and everything. The only negative point of the whole trip was Sherlock not being there. He'd tried to call Sherlock's cell a few times at the beginning of the week but the genius was probably too busy to answer the blasted thing. He felt excitement cascade through his body at the idea of seeing his boyfriend. He was determined to have his mother drop him off at the manor instead of taking him straight home. He couldn't imagine waiting a whole other day before seeing him. Because he was so eager to get home, the train ride seemed to drag on forever. He practically leapt from the still moving car as it pulled into the station. His mother pulled him into a tight hug before helping him with his bag and directing them to the car.

"You had a good time, then?" She asked.

"It was brilliant." John said. "London's amazing."

"I'm so glad." She said. "Are you ready to get back to the house?"

"I was actually wondering if you would mind dropping me off at the Manor." He asked. "I just want to see Sherlock for a bit. I'll catch a ride back with Mrs. Hudson."

His Mum studied him carefully before sighing and nodding gently. "That's fine, sweetie. But there is something I want to talk with you about tonight, alright?"

"Okay." He said smiling happily. "Thanks, Mum."

He talked the entire ride to the manor telling her about everything that they'd done and where they'd eaten. He described Debbie's wonderful flat that with its giant windows and stainless steel appliances. His mother was smiling warmly as she pulled up to the drive.

"Thanks," He said. "I'll walk from here."

"And remember I need to speak with you tonight, John." She called as he practically fell over himself to get out of the car.

"I know." He shouted as he began jogging down the drive. He was practically sprinting down the drive when he heard a high pitched giggle from the tree line. He turned slowly to see Jim smirking at him.

"I'm kinda busy." John said before turning back toward the house.

"The pet's eager to return to its master." Jim mocked. "That's so adorable."

"Say what you want to so I can get away from you." John said firmly.

"I told you he'd get bored, Johnny Boy." Jim said gleefully.

"I don't believe you." John said, feeling his pulse jump nervously.

"Believe what you want, Pet." He said with a shrug. "You'll find out soon enough. It is a shame you didn't let him bugger you before you left. You won't have the chance now."

Jim turned and disappeared into the trees before John turned and raced to the house feeling terror fill his heart. He burst through the side entrance, up the stairs, and into the residential area. He ignored the surprised shouts from Mrs. Holmes and made a beeline for Sherlock's room. He burst in and felt all of the blood drain away. He staggered over to the bed and collapsed on the floor against it trying to fight against the feeling of sharp claws tearing his chest apart. He kept his face buried in his hands as he heard Mrs. Holmes follow him into the newly organized room.

"I'm so sorry, John." She whispered brokenly.

"Where is he?" John asked feeling tremors run through his entire body.

"He was sent to a treatment facility in Scotland." She continued quietly.

"What happened?" He asked.

"Mycroft found him out by the pond." She said. "He was…he was with Jim."

"Oh god." John cried softly. "Was he? Were they?"

"I'm so sorry." She answered.

He wrenched away from the bed and ran into the bathroom, heaving painfully as he fought through wrenching sobs and painful gags. He stayed on the cool tiles of Sherlock's bathroom unable to even process whatever Mrs. Holmes was saying. He wasn't sure how long he lay there before he heard his Mum call his name and pull him into a close hug. She held him while he sobbed painfully, his gasps and sobs tearing their way out of his throat. He felt all of his energy drain away leaving him shivering and exhausted.

"Let's go home, sweetie." His mother said quietly.

He nodded silently and let his Mum lead him out of the house. He didn't even look at Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Holmes and Mycroft as he made his way out to the car. He climbed in and slumped against the door after his mother shut it softly. He closed his eyes and waited for his mother to get in the car.

"If he needs anything…" He heard Mrs. Holmes say quietly.

"Excuse me." His Mum said firmly. "But I really don't think that my son needs anything from you right now."

"I just want to help." She said softly. "We're very fond of John."

"I appreciate that." His Mum answered. "But I can't even stomach the idea of him being constantly reminded of this more often than he must. You won't be seeing him again."

They drove away quickly and John let himself be helped into the house and into his room. He collapsed on his bed and dropped into an exhausted, fitful sleep.

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Mycroft sat stiffly at his desk in his childhood home sighing and fidgeting. He was disconcerted. It was a very unfamiliar emotion for him. But that was only to be expected. This entire situation was incredibly disagreeable. That so many people were suffering from the selfish and careless actions of his brother was detestable. He felt a subtle anger settle in his gut as the memory from earlier in the week rose unbidden to his mind.

He'd come home early on Tuesday to have a little chat with his brother regarding the appropriate use of his highly confidential work address. Mrs. Hudson had pointed him in the direction of the pond and he twirled his umbrella in agitation as he crossed the lawn. He was rounding the hedge when he saw them: Sherlock and that awful little rat clinging to each other, an abandoned line of cocaine on the bench next to them. Mycroft would be unable to explain his thought process during the next few seconds. It seemed completely involuntary as he strode toward them in a few short steps and drove the end of his umbrella deeply into the side of that waste of oxygen, Jim Moriarty. He felt satisfaction flow through his veins as he heard the painful yelp from the younger boy. It died quickly as he met the now terror-stricken features of his drug-addled younger brother. He grabbed Sherlock by the shirt roughly before facing Jim again.

"Off my property," Mycroft growled. "Now."

He watched Jim scuttle off clutching his side before dragging Sherlock back to the house. He felt bile rise as Sherlock began pleading with him.

"Please, Mycroft!" Sherlock screeched. "Please! You can't. Don't do this. You can't tell John! Please! Don't tell John, Mycroft! They'll send me away! Don't do this! Please! I won't be able to see John!"

He pulled Sherlock through the house and dropped him on the couch in the living area before shoving a finger in his younger brother's face.

"I knew it," Mycroft fumed. "I knew that you'd relapse and not only did you do that, you cheated on the one person in this entire bloody world outside this family that gave a fuck about you."

"Please, Mycroft." Sherlock pleaded. "You can't tell him."

"That's where you're wrong." Mycroft bit back. "He deserves to know and if no one else will tell him, then I will. He's so much better than you ever will be, Sherlock."

His mother had finally entered the room curious about the ruckus and he watched as her face crumpled at the sight of her youngest son.

"I'll call Father." Mycroft said before turning away from his disappointing younger sibling and stalking to his room. Within an hour, Sherlock was bundled into the private car with an escort to be delivered to a high-security treatment facility. He'd never seen his mother so upset. She'd spent the whole next day cleaning and organizing Sherlock's room. When she'd ask him to stick around until John returned, he'd agreed readily. He knew telling John was going to be awful and he wanted to be there for his mother. Watching that young man crumple under the weight of knowing that yet another person he loved had betrayed his trust was heart-wrenching. He'd watched John being taken away by Mrs. Watson knowing full well that she blamed the entire incident on their family. Mycroft couldn't even gloat about the fact that he'd been right. Of course, he'd been right. Sherlock never should have been allowed to stay at the Manor after the previous incident. He should have been sent to treatment to get the help he needed as well as spare the entire family and John from more disappointment. He was brought back from his reverie by his mother.

"When are you heading back?" She asked tiredly.

"Probably tomorrow." He answered. "Will you be alright here?"

"Of course, darling." She said. "I have my work and Mrs. Hudson to keep me company. I'll be fine."

"Well, you have my number if you need anything." He said.

"Thank you, Mycroft." She said.

"Anything for you, Mummy." He said.

"Do you think she meant it?" His mother asked. "Would she really keep John away from here?"

"I think she was responding to the obvious distress of her son." He said evenly. "She saw how devastated he was and immediately went on the defensive. But she's a reasonable person and I think that if John expresses an interest in visiting once some of the more painful emotional wounds heal, I don't think she would deny him his wish."

"I never meant for any of this to happen." She said throwing her hands up in the air. "I wanted him to be happy. And he was! They both were. John was like a salve to that boy. I can't for the life of me imagine why he did that."

"Because he's a child," Mycroft said simply. "He's a self-destructive, selfish child who takes what he wants, when he wants it and assumes that nothing will ever hurt him. He doesn't think of the consequences or the emotional ramifications of his actions."

"Will he ever be okay?" She asked dejectedly.

"If he's very lucky and takes a very hard look at his life and choices," Mycroft answered. "He might have a chance."

"Not much hope then." She said drily.

"Oh, I don't know." Mycroft said. "He does have a tendency to surprise people and he's tenacious when he wants to be. He might just pull it off."

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**We'll get through this. Together.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Alright, everyone! Strap in and grab on to something because we're doing this rough and dirty...**

**These boys have a lot to figure out in a year. Most of the next chapters will be short snippets of conversation between John, Sherlock, and the rest of the cast. I will try to not have the separation last too long. Thanks again for reading!**

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John lay in his bed despondently, staring at the ceiling and letting the minutes slide past him. This was the first morning in months that he'd stayed in bed past 8am. He didn't care though. He couldn't be bothered to care. Every time he even let his mind suggest that he get up, he immediately was reminded that no, he wouldn't be going to work today to see his boyfriend who was now not his boyfriend because he was cheated on with a drug-dealing psycho. He'd been tossed aside for a chemical high and a boy that Sherlock didn't even actually care about at all. And that's where John ranked in Sherlock's hierarchy of important things, after illegal substances and thrill fucks. John felt another wave of self-hatred flood through his system. He'd been so stupid. How could he think that someone like Sherlock, someone brilliant and exciting and gorgeous, would be interested in him? He should have known better. He couldn't bear the thought of having people know how much of a pathetic, delusional loser he'd been. He just wanted to erase the past few months so he didn't have to feel like this anymore.

He turned to face the wall as he heard the door to his room crack open.

"Sweetie," His mother said quietly. "We have to talk."

He curled more tightly against the wall as she perched gently on the edge of his bed and ran a soothing hand up and down his back. He felt tears threatening to fall for what felt like the hundredth time and pushed them away roughly. He didn't want to keep crying over this. He didn't want to keep letting this bother him. It had happened and it sucked and he had been stupid, but it was over now. And the only thing for him to do now was move forward.

"John." She said. "I need you to look at me."

He rolled onto his back and met his mother's understanding eyes.

"Mum," He said roughly, his voice a wreck from the events of the night before. "I really don't want to talk about it."

"I know, Sweetie." She said. "But that's not what we need to talk about. Remember, I said last night that there was something we needed to discuss."

"Oh." He said. "Right. Sorry, I forgot."

He watched his mother take a deep breath before she began. "I'm sure that you've noticed how often I've been gone."

"Yeah," he said. "I was a bit confused."

"You have to understand, Johnny." She said. "That it is my job and my dearest wish to take care of you and your sister and provide the best possible care for you both."

"I know, Mum." He said unsure of where this conversation was going.

"That's why I'm doing this." She said firmly. "Because it's what's best for you."

"What are you doing?" He asked feeling a chill creep up his spine.

"This visit with your aunt wasn't just a small vacation for you." She said. "We wanted to see how comfortable you would be in London and with her."

"Mum…" He said feeling a bit panicky. He pulled himself up to sit against the headboard as his mother continued.

"I've already got you enrolled in a great school close to her flat." She said quickly. "You begin classes in two weeks which should give you more than enough time to get acclimated."

"You're sending me away?" John asked painfully.

"Don't you see," She said, tears filling her eyes. "It's my job to take care of you and I can't do that here. I'm working too many hours to maintain this house to even be here to see you when you get home. I can't do right by you like this."

"But, Mum." He said. "I don't want to leave you."

"We'll see each other." She said running a finger through his hair. "You can come home on the weekends and for holidays."

"But…" He tried.

"And with everything," She said. "I think this is the best possible solution. You can get away from this place and the bad memories. You can start fresh, Sweetie."

"But I can't leave you." He said quietly. "We take care of each other."

"We'll still do that." She said. "You can call me anytime. We'll talk as often as you like. But this is what's best for you, John."

"How long do I have to think this over?" He asked.

"There's nothing to think over." She said gently. "You leave on Wednesday."

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John was sitting on the edge of his bed with his full suitcase at his back staring at his hands. It was Tuesday afternoon and John had spent the day packing up his clothes. He wouldn't need much else. His aunt had a room all set up for him at her flat. He'd said an awkward goodbye to Lestrade this morning and now was just counting down the minutes until tomorrow. His Mum had been apologetic, but steadfast regarding his move. He still had no idea how he felt about the whole thing. With everything that had been going on the past few days, he was cycling between sadness, anger, and a strange numb sensation that left him cold. He knew that Mrs. Holmes had called to check up on him but the calls were intercepted by his Mum. She probably thought he was totally stupid, chasing after her son like some pathetic, needy idiot. She probably pitied him. God, she probably knew that Sherlock would do something like this and she just let him moon after him. The entire family probably laughed about it behind his back while they sat in their posh Manor staring at the stupid walls that he'd painted. Light green. A color similar to his own wall color. Too similar.

He lunged off the bed and slammed his fist into the green walls over and over and over again. He let the sharp pain run jaggedly up his arm until he saw splatters of blood drip from the wall. He slid to the ground clutching his battered fist to his chest and shaking uncontrollably. His mother found him after rushing upstairs to find out what was going on. They spent three hours at hospital as he got his hand cleaned up and wrapped with a cast. He didn't say anything other than to answer the questions presented to him with one-word responses. His mother didn't scold him, just kept a firm grip on his wrist the entire time. They sat quietly through dinner and John retreated to his room to finish packing and pretend to get some sleep. He spent most of the night staring at the ceiling and rose quietly a few minutes before his alarm went off at 6am. They got the car packed up quickly and the drive to the train depot was silent. She parked this time and walked him to the platform. She studied his face for several minutes before pulling him into a tight hug and holding him there for several minutes.

"It'll be wonderful, John." She murmured. "Promise me that you'll do well in school and make new friends."

"I promise." He said quietly.

"Call me when you get in and be good for Debbie." She said.

"Okay." He replied.

"I love you." She whispered.

"I love you too." He said.

He got his bags loaded onto the train and sat as far away from the other passengers as possible resting his head against the cool glass. He played with the edges of his cast absently and felt a lump rise in his throat as the train pulled away from the only home he'd ever known.

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"Holmes, Sherlock." The orderly called over the intercom. "You're meds are ready."

Sherlock didn't get off his bed but instead curled more tightly into the scratchy sheets as he let his misery run rampant. He felt awful. If he could think coherently through the haze of pain and nausea, he would deduce that this withdrawal was even worse than the last one. He'd spent the last week shivering and retching very similar to the last time, but he was able to acknowledge the differences between this time and the last time. The last time he'd had his own bed. With his own bathroom and his own bedroom that he didn't have to share with a whiny kleptomaniac admitted due to three DUIs and underage drinking convictions over the past six months. The last time he'd had Mrs. Hudson and his mother wiping his brow and cleaning his bathroom. He had his experiments to keep his mind off the pain and boredom. Last time, he had John running those lightly callused hands through his sweat-soaked curls sending delicious warmth to combat the freezing cold shivers. The thought of John made a different type of pain claw at his chest and he let his misery swamp over him again. He ignored the second page and growled as his roommate sauntered into the room.

"Hey, Holmes." Sebastian called happily. "You missed breakfast."

"Fuck off." Sherlock said, his stomach roiling at the thought of eating.

"Someone's grumpy this morning." Sebastian continued.

Sherlock pulled the covers over his head to drown out the incessant chatter and felt them pulled back by one of the orderlies.

"Holmes, meds are ready." He said.

"I don't want any of your pharmaceutical, neuro-chemical altering nonsense." Sherlock grumbled. "I prefer my brain the way it is."

"You're up for phone privileges today, Holmes." The orderly said. "But that only applies if you're med compliant."

"Phone privileges?" Sherlock jerked up ignoring the lurch of his stomach.

"Yeah." He replied. "You've been here a week. Phone privileges are administered after the first week dependent upon your compliance with the facility's rules. Weren't you paying attention during your orientation?"

"No." Sherlock said honestly. "I can call anyone though?"

"Yeah." He answered. "One call. Fifteen minutes. Do you want to come take your meds or not?"

"What are you giving me?" He asked.

"Right now?" The orderly said. "Just something to soothe your nausea and some acetaminophen. You'll meet with your psychiatrist later in the week to determine if they want you on any long-term medications."

"Alright." Sherlock answered. "Lead the way."

Sherlock spent the rest of the day following directions meekly determined to earn phone privileges. He refrained from verbally eviscerating any of the other boys on the ward and kept to himself spending time reading several of the books on the physiology of the brain from the floor's library. It was close to 6pm before his name was called over the intercom. He moved as quickly as he could across the room before sliding to a halt in front of the desk. The woman behind the desk handed him the receiver and asked for the number so she could punch it in manually. He felt his heart begin to beat erratically in his chest as the line began to ring. His entire body jumped in excitement as the line clicked over.

"Hello." Mrs. Watson answered.

"Can I speak to John?" Sherlock said happily.

"May I ask whose calling?" She said.

"It's Sherlock." He said.

"Sherlock Holmes?" Mrs. Watson demanded, her voice turning cold.

"Mrs. Watson, please." He pleaded. "I need to speak to John."

"You are not allowed to contact my son ever again, do you understand me?" She said angrily.

"But…" He tried.

"No." She said firmly. "Never call here again and leave him alone."

He slumped against the counter as the dial tone rang through the receiver. He swallowed heavily before handing it back and walking slowly back to his room. He curled up under the sheets and let misery sear through his body.


	18. Chapter 18

**So, I didn't have to work a double today! Yay! That means two chapters! **

**Like I mentioned in my last update, the next few chapters will be dialogue heavy to get the boys through time quickly while still growing and learning. I hope that you enjoy.  
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"Do you have any questions for me?" The woman asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and slumped further down into the chair.

"This is a completely new environment for you, Sherlock. You've been here less than a month." She continued. "It's understandable that you may be anxious or have questions. Feel free to ask me anything at all."

Sherlock continued his resolute silence. He refused to play into this therapy bullshit. He just wanted to get the hell out of here. Get out and find John and fix this.

"I understand, you know." She said.

Sherlock let out a loud scoff before affixing his gaze out the window once more.

"One year." She continued. "You're stuck here for one year, Sherlock. And please feel free to try to 'deduce' a way out of here."

He whipped his head around at the phrasing she'd used.

"That's right." She smiled. "Your father told us all about your astounding intellect and your attention to detail. But escaping won't get you what you want. Even if you manage to leave, your countdown will reset once you are escorted by the police back here. You will serve one consecutive year here. It's up to you how long that actually is."

Sherlock scowled daggers at his therapist. He hadn't even bothered to catch her name.

"So, while you're here," She continued. "The progress of your treatment is in your hands. You can spend that time refusing to participate in therapy and group and not interacting with your peers during your free time or you can use your time constructively and earn privileges that will make your stay much more amenable. It's totally up to you."

"I don't have peers." He grunted angrily.

"Pardon?" She asked.

"I said I don't have peers." He repeated. "No one in this dull prison is my equal in intelligence and deductive abilities."

"So who do you consider your peers, then?" She asked. "Your friends?"

Sherlock felt a pang of sadness at the thought of John but squashed it and returned his gaze to the window. After five more minutes of silence, she closed her writing pad and sighed.

"I think we're done for the day." She said. "But you've lost phone privileges due to the fact that you refused to cooperate in therapy."

He stomped out of the office and back to his room throwing himself onto his bed and burying his face into his pillow. He spent most of the morning lying there dejectedly running through every possible way to murder his brother for getting him into this mess. If he'd just kept what happened with Jim a secret, he wouldn't be here and John would be with him. This was all Mycroft's fault. He was working out the exact amount of cement required when his roommate walked in.

"Hey, Holmes." Sebastian said happily. "Some of the other lads want to see that little party trick of yours. Wanna stop by my table at lunch?"

"Absolutely not." Sherlock growled. He'd gotten pissed at Sebastian two days before and had tore him to shreds by deducing that his mother took his sister when she left ten years ago leaving him alone with his neglectful father. Instead of punching him in the face, the kid had proceeded to tell everyone else on the ward about his "party trick" and he was forced to interact with his cellmates on a daily basis. It was torture.

"Ya know." Sebastian chuckled. "I've been here a long time. I know the ins and outs of the system."

"You must be so proud." Sherlock drawled into his pillow.

"I figure that makes me useful." Sebastian continued undeterred. "If you were to be willing to procure some items for me, then I might be able to help you acquire some much valued items as well."

"How could my vastly superior intelligence help you at all?" Sherlock asked.

"Sorry freak, but your intelligence means very little to me." Sebastian snorted. "But you're right about one thing, Sherls."

"Don't call me that." Sherlock growled.

"It gets incredibly boring here sometimes." Sebastian said ignoring Sherlock. "It would be so much easier to have some rich bloke, that's you, get his folks to send him some much needed amenities."

"Why don't you just ask your father?" Sherlock growled.

"That little shit cut me off." Sebastian said angrily. "No, I need a new revenue stream. That's where you come in."

"And what exactly do I get in return?" Sherlock asked.

"Who's John?" Sebastian said smarmily.

"Fuck off." Sherlock said feeling his anger rising.

"You talk about him in your sleep." Sebastian smiled.

"Get to the point or I will wipe the floor with you." Sherlock growled.

"I can get you access to a phone with the internet." Sebastian said smugly. "You can email your boyfriend to your heart's content."

Sherlock felt his entire body fizzle with excitement. He'd be able to get in contact with John. Explain everything. Make him understand.

Sebastian smirked at the obvious delight on Sherlock's features, "Do we have a deal?"

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"I must say," Debbie Miller said taking a seat beside John in his teacher's office. "I was little concerned when I received your call."

"Don't worry." He said with a smile. "It's nothing serious, but John did transfer halfway through his high school career and I just wanted to have a short conference after his first couple weeks."

John kept his head down trying to blend into the surroundings. He wished he could just disappear. He knew exactly why Mr. Walker had called this meeting and he knew that this evening would involve several phone calls back and forth between his aunt and his mother.

"Alright." Debbie said hesitantly. Let's get started then."

"Before I go into anything," Mr. Walker began. "I just want to say that John is an exceptionally bright student. He works hard and understands any concept presented in his classes. It is very impressive."

"Well, that's good." Debbie said ruffling John's hair lightly.

"Yes," Mr. Walker said. "His academic achievements are spectacular. It's more his social interactions that are of concern."

"Oh?" Debbie said glancing at John.

"He hasn't made any friends." Mr. Walker said honestly. "He sits alone at lunch, doesn't interact with anyone during free time, doesn't pair up with anyone for group work. It's not conducive to healthy, well-rounded development."

Debbie rested her hand on the nape of his neck before continuing. "John's had a rough couple of months."

"Alright." Mr. Walker nodded. "But don't you think that forming healthy, peer connections would help him deal with his issues?"

"I'm sure it would." Debbie agreed. "But he's experienced a bit of…well…betrayal by people he's cared about lately. It's probably hard for him to open up to anyone new."

"Do you keep in contact with any friends from home, John?" Mr. Walker asked him.

"My mate, Greg." John answered not taking his eyes off the floor.

"And what did you and Greg do for fun?" He continued.

"I don't know." John said. "Played rugby, watched telly."

"Well, why don't you try out for the intramural Rugby team?" Mr. Walker asked. "I'm the faculty advisor. We could get you signed up."

"I don't want to play Rugby." John said firmly.

Debbie chimed in, "He's still adjusting to his new surroundings. It might take him awhile before he decides what extracurricular activities he wants to sign up for."

"I don't doubt that," Mr. Walker said. "But I am going to stress that John get involved soon. He's ostracizing himself as it is now. What about academic clubs? What's your favorite subject?"

"I like science." He said trying to be cooperative.

"Alright." Mr. Walker said with a smile. "What about the Biology or Chemistry club?"

"Does he have to decide right now?" Debbie asked.

"I want John to pick at least one social club or team to join tonight." Mr. Walker said firmly.

Debbie frowned a bit, but turned to John with a smile. "What do you think?"

"I don't know." John said. "I guess…Biology club."

"Good," Mr. Walker said making a note. "I'll let Mrs. Gogel tomorrow."

"Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?" Debbie asked.

"Not really no." Mr. Walker said. "But I do want to stress that if you ever need someone to talk to John, I'm here."

John nodded dumbly before getting up and walking toward the door. The cab ride back to Debbie's flat was quiet. They picked up Thai for dinner and were settled on the couch comfortably before his aunt brought up the meeting.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on?" She said pushing his leg lightly with her foot.

"What do you mean?" He asked picking at his cast absently.

"Why didn't you tell me that you're not making any friends?" She asked.

"Are you going to call my mother?" He asked sadly.

"John," She sighed. "I'm not keeping tabs on you for your mother. I just want what's best for you."

"I'm…I don't know…I just don't' feel…ready." John fumbled. "I know I promised my mum, but…"

"John," She said with a sigh. "I'm not worried so much about a promise you made to your mum. I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine." He said. "Truly."

"You'd tell me though if you weren't, right?" She asked.

"Yes." He said.

"You're such a liar." She said. "This whole thing only works if we can communicate and you tell me when you need something."

"Okay." He said.

"Do you want it to?" She asked curiously.

"What?" John asked confused.

"Do you want to stay here?" She asked. "I know that your mum didn't give you a lot of choice and it must have been awful leaving all your friends behind."

"I do." He said firmly. "There's not much left for me at home. I know that Mum wants me here and everything I had…well…I thought I had…it didn't really work out."

"Oh, sweetie." She said.

John swallowed past the lump in his throat before continuing. "I promise to try harder. I just…yeah, I'll try harder."

"John," She said. "The only thing I want you to try hard at is being happy."

"Thanks, Debbie." He said. "I'm going to go to bed."

"Alright." She said. "Give me a hug."

He gave her a quick hug before walking to his room. He'd been here almost a month now and he still felt uncomfortable most nights before he went to sleep. He crawled into the unfamiliar sheets and stared out the unfamiliar windows sighing. He was determined to adjust to this new place. He'd work hard. He'd try harder. Because what else did he honestly have? A dead father. A drunk sister. A mother who, for his own good, sent him off. And a boyfriend who was never really a boyfriend who cheated on him. No. He wasn't anyone to anybody except a charity case to his aunt. He'd make this work. Carve out a life for himself here. He could do this. He had to do this.

He sighed heavily one more time before curling up against the wall and drifting off to sleep.

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Mrs. Holmes walked hesitantly to the front door feeling a bit anxious. She hadn't heard from John in a month and just wanted to check on him. It was different around the manor without the boys. She didn't really prefer it. She steeled herself and knocked on the door hesitantly. She shifted back and forth jumping when the door was wrenched open a young woman glanced out.

"Can I help you?" She asked politely.

"Yes," Mrs. Holmes said. "I was wondering if your mother or John were home."

The girl quirked her eyebrow and gave the woman an appraising look. "Who are you?"

"Anna Holmes." She smiled.

"Oh." The girl's face dropped its pleasant expression. She went to close the door, but Mrs. Holmes almost shouted.

"Wait!" She said. "Please! I just wanted to see how he was. We miss him at the manor."

"John doesn't live here anymore." The girl bit out sharply.

"What?" Mrs. Holmes asked confused.

"He's living in London with his aunt." She continued.

"Why?" Mrs. Holmes replied.

"That's really none of your business." She said. "Now, please go away."

She jerked when the door slammed closed and turned to walk slowly back to her car. She sat there for a while before pulling out her cell phone.

"Hello, Mummy." Mycroft said amiably. "What can I do for you?"

"John was sent to London to live with his aunt." She said without preamble.

"I'm aware." He said. "I did some minor research when I returned and found that Mrs. Watson was making several trips to London over the summer. She attended several meetings at a variety of schools and spent several nights with her sister-in-law, Debbie Walker."

"Oh my god." Mrs. Holmes sighed.

"It does seem that, for his own good, she was planning on sending him to London to live." Mycroft said quietly.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner, Mycroft?" She asked.

"It wasn't my place." He said simply. "I wasn't going to volunteer information that might cause you pain and I didn't want to intrude upon John's privacy."

"Will you…" She began.

"I've had some of my people keep an eye on him since he moved." He said competently. "I'll watch over him."

"Thank you, honey." She said.

"Get some rest, Mummy." Mycroft said. "I know that this hasn't been easy on you."

"I'm fine, Mycroft." She said. "But thank you."

"Anytime." He replied. "Talk to you soon."

"I love you." She said before hanging up.

**0000000000000000000**

**To all of my wonderful reviewers: **

**THANK YOU! I hope to have time in the next few days to respond personally and answer the questions posed. Sorry, it is taking me so long! Thanks again for taking the time to review and I hope that you continue to enjoy the story!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Sorry! My upload did something wonky so I have to repost this. Lame.**

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"John, it's the uniform." His teacher said exasperated. "You have to wear it."

"I'm sorry, but no." John said quietly.

"It was okay for you to not dress-out for phys. Ed. because of your cast, but now you'll have to put on the clothes or I'll have to give you a demerit." He responded.

"Give me a demerit then." John answered.

"John," he continued. "Why would you want a demerit on your record over something so insignificant?"

John looked down dejectedly at the confusion in his teacher's voice. He'd tried on the shorts the night before and had felt panic claw through his system at the very visible scar peeking out from the bottom of the uniform. He'd agonized over what he was going to do for hours. The truth was that he would much rather get a demerit than have to endure the questioning glances and curious inquiries that were unavoidable if they got a good look at the red, puckered line running up his thigh.

"Are you alright?" His teacher asked concerned. "You're really very pale."

John felt his vision go a bit funny and stumbled a little bit against nothing. He felt his teacher grab him lightly by the elbow, guiding him to a chair and maneuvering his head between his legs as his vision went spotty.

"Take a deep breath for me, John." The teacher said. "That's good, keep breathing like that while I get you a cold compress."

After pressing the packet to John's head, they sat in silence for a while as John felt normality slither back over him. He felt embarrassment flood through him and he felt incredibly warm in the small office. He took a deep breath before whispering, "I have a scar."

"Oh," His teacher responded lightly.

"I got it in the car accident that…that my dad died in." He continued.

"Oh, John." He answered. "I understand now. You don't want anyone asking you questions about it."

"Yeah." John said keeping his eyes away from his teacher.

"Well, I appreciate you telling me what was bothering you, John." His teacher responded. "I'll think about it and get back with you on Monday before class. Does that sound alright?"

"Yeah." John said hoarsely.

"Alright." His teacher said. "Are you alright to get home?"

"Sure." He said. "I'll be fine."

"Have a good weekend." He said.

"Yeah," John replied. "You too."

John walked out of the gymnasium and up a flight of stairs. Today was also his first time attending Biology Club too. Needless to say, he really hated today. He entered the Bio Lab quietly trying to remain unnoticed to the other dozen or so students already perched on stools. He sat at the very last worktable across from a tiny girl poring over some text the size of his head. She glanced up as he accidently dropped his bag loudly on the floor.

"Oh," She said sweetly. "Hello."

"Er…hi." He said with an awkward wave.

"You're John." She said with a nervous smile.

"Yeah." He said tilting his head slightly. "How did you know?"

"We have trigonometry together." She said with a shrug.

"Right." He said.

"I'm Molly." She said happily. "Molly Hooper."

He walked home that night in a tentatively happy mood. The Club was interesting and unassuming. They had organized going to the Science Museum next month. He'd had a pleasant time listening to Molly chat about the club and her interest in becoming a doctor. He found himself laughing along with her as she explained some hilarious story about her mother, a wet cat, and a hairdryer. They'd past the time happily and even made plans to meet for lunch after their class next week. His aunt was working until 7pm that night so he made himself a plate of eggs and collapsed in front of her computer. He'd talked to Lestrade the night before and they had plans to IM on GChat in about twenty minutes. He was logged on when he got a ping.

_SH: John, please don't log out._

_JW: Who is this?_

_SH: It's Sherlock. DON'T log out._

John felt his breath hitch and his head go a bit funny as he stared at the screen. He couldn't even catalog the emotions and thoughts that were attacking his psyche at a hundred miles an hour.

_SH: John? Please talk to me._

_SH: Please, John. Just talk to me._

_JW: What do you want?_

_SH: How are you?_

_JW: What do you want?_

_SH: I miss you._

John felt something painful grip at his heart as he fought back against the anger making bile rise in his throat.

_JW: You don't get to miss me._

_SH: I know that what happened wasn't ideal, but I never meant to hurt you._

_JW: "Wasn't ideal"? Honestly? That's your brilliant assessment?_

_SH: I never wanted to leave you. I don't like being so far away from you._

_JW: Sherlock, you got high and cheated on me with Jim._

_SH: It wasn't like that._

_JW: Like what exactly? _

_SH: I didn't do that with Jim because I wanted to. I had to prove that I was smarter than him._

_JW: And you did that by letting him fuck you?_

_SH: We only kissed. Kissing doesn't mean anything._

_ JW logged out._

John pulled back from the computer and stumbled to his room. He collapsed on his bedspread and curled up against the wall. God, he felt awful and used. Sighing heavily and fighting back tears, he lay there until the early hours of the morning.

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"Tell me about John." His therapist asked.

"No." Sherlock growled.

"Why not?" She asked.

Sherlock said nothing as he continued to stare out the window. He'd been here two months already and these therapy sessions were by far the dullest thing about this entire experience. He had to attend one every week if he wanted to earn time out in the fresh air. He had been surprised how much he wanted to spend his free time outside wandering around the grounds. But with some relatively simple deductions, he'd determined that it was his mind's way of staying close to John. He'd sit under a tree and let his memories overwhelm him as he remembered the scent of John's shampoo, the tanned hands running over his skin, the sound of his giggle drifting along the air. It was the only time he wasn't bored. The only time he didn't feel like his brain was atrophying at the idiocy around him.

"So," She said. "Maybe he didn't mean as much to you as your mother thought."

"Don't say that." Sherlock snapped.

"You do care about him then?" She shrugged.

"That's none of your business." He sneered.

"Why not?" She asked again.

"Because I'm not going to let you use what John and I have as some sort of chum in your hunt for how I define myself." He almost yelled.

"What you _had_." She clarified.

"What!" He asked angrily.

"What you _had_." She said again. "What you _had_ with John. You don't really have anything with him right now."

"Don't." He warned.

"Well," She said undeterred. "You did a fantastic job of mucking it up."

"I'll fix it." He said determined.

"How do you plan on doing that?" She asked curiously.

"I'll explain everything." He said. "He'll listen to me."

"What will you tell him?" She asked. "Why you took cocaine again? Why you were kissing another boy? Why you couldn't go a week without him before betraying his trust?"

"Shut up!" He shouted. "I can fix this! I'm fucking brilliant and I don't need someone like you with a community college therapy degree and six cats to lecture me!"

He stood stock still staring at her feeling his pulse beat loudly in his ears. She hadn't even reacted to his outburst. She just sat there writing on her infernal notepad. She wrote for several more seconds before glancing up at him with impassive eyes.

In a calm voice, she said quietly. "There isn't a doubt in my mind, Sherlock, that you are one of the brightest young men of your generation. But not everything can be solved with facts and logic. You can't just tell John about how you changed. You have to be willing to humble that giant ego of yours and show him."

He felt his legs begin to shake and he collapsed back into his chair. "How do I do that?"

"You're brilliant, Sherlock Holmes." She said with a sad smile. "You'll think of something."

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"Did you dye you hair?" John asked curiously.

"Oh! Yes." Molly said with a grin. "Do you like it?"

"It looks nice." He answered.

"My mom thought it would make me look a bit better." She said with a shrug.

"Molly," John scolded lightly. "You looked fine already. You shouldn't let her talk to you like that."

"She knows what she's talking about." Molly said turning a bit red. "She's an actress."

"Molly." John said a bit more firmly. "You are great just the way you are. You don't need your awful mother's litany of thinly-veiled, completely untrue insults getting you down."

Molly shrugged again and John let the conversation drop. He'd only met Mrs. Hooper once but he was fairly certain that she was one of the coldest people she had ever met. She was some two-bit actress that maybe played a minor role in a play every couple of years but she always made herself out to be some starlet. It was bloody annoying and he could practically feel the discomfort of his friend when it happened in public. He shook off the anger and focused back on the sandwich in front of him. He was going on his third month here and felt himself slowly adjusting to this place. He'd gone out to lunch with Molly and her mother that day but her Mum had decided to take an important call about a half hour ago leaving them at the table by themselves. Not that he really minded after all.

He was just wiping his hands on his napkin and tossing it on his plate when he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned and started coughing at the sight of Mycroft Holmes twirling his umbrella a few feet away.

"Drink of water, John?" He asked politely reaching around to press the glass into his hands.

He swallowed slowly trying to let his brain adjust as Mycroft took a seat and placed his umbrella on his knee.

"Hello." John said politely feeling anguish flood through his system. He'd been trying so hard to push away all of his memories of the past summer and laying eyes on Mycroft had them viciously clawing into his mind. He glanced at Molly and watched as her face flickered between concern and confusion. John sighed before making introductions. "Mycroft Holmes, this is…"

"Molly Hooper." Mycroft said politely shaking her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Hi." She squeaked before glancing back down at her plate.

"So sorry to just drop in on you like this." Mycroft said, turning back to John. "But I was in the neighborhood and just wanted to check in."

"Check in?" John asked confused. "Check in on what?"

"On you, of course." Mycroft said.

"Why?" John asked.

"My family is very aware of the negative impact my brother's behavior has had on you…" Mycroft began before John cut him off.

"Please just stop." John said firmly feeling his face flush. "I don't want to talk about this. Just tell me what you're doing here."

Mycroft studied him slightly before clearing his throat, "The Christmas holiday is coming up. I assume you're returning home to your mother's house."

"Yes." John answered.

"Mummy wanted me to extend an invitation to come to the Manor over break." Mycroft said. "She would love to see you."

John had trouble swallowing against the lump in his throat. He felt indecision grip him as he stared resolutely down at his plate trying to form an answer.

"You don't have to decide today, John." Mycroft said reassuringly. "But it would mean so much to her to see you again. She's very fond of you."

John nodded dumbly but didn't say anything else as Mycroft rose quickly and placed a hand on John's shoulder.

"Please think it over." Mycroft said before squeezing slightly and wandering off.

John sat there quietly trying to regulate his breathing and felt normality slowly re-assert itself before glancing back at Molly with what he hoped was a comforting grin.

"Who was that?" Molly asked.

"Nobody really." John answered simply and was never happier to see Mrs. Hooper scuttle back to the table and commandeer the conversation for the rest of the afternoon.

**0000000000000000**

**Chapter conclusion:**

**John has a crap day, Sherlock's thick, and Mycroft is creepy.**


	20. Chapter 20

He sighed heavily and looked down at the floor.

"I didn't come here to fight, Sherlock." Mrs. Holmes said tiredly. "I just wanted to check on you."

"I don't need someone to check on me." He bit out. "You can go."

"Sherlock." She said. "It's almost Christmas. Couldn't you get over this anger for thirty minutes and talk to me?"

"I'd rather not." He said.

"Why not?" She asked exasperated.

"Because you put me in here!" He said a bit harshly. "You didn't even listen when I tried to explain. I'm not an addict and I'm not going to buy into this worthless trash of a treatment program for a chemical imbalance that I don't actually have."

"So, you're saying that it's our fault that you're here." She said quietly. "That you weren't warned again and again about what your actions were going to cause us to do."

"This place is for addicts." He said. "I'm not an addict."

"And Jim?" She asked coldly. "You're not at fault for what you did with him either?"

Sherlock swallowed heavily before saying, "What happened with Jim didn't mean anything."

"To you, maybe." She said icily. "But you aren't an island, Sherlock. What you do has consequences and it meant something to John. The only boy who has ever seen past your antagonistic bullshit and taken the time to get to know you. I've never been so disappointed in you as I was when I saw what you did to him."

She rose angrily and stalked toward the door.

"Wait." He called out. He met her halfway and shoved an envelope at her. "Could you get this to him?"

"What is it?" She asked suspiciously.

"It's private." He bit out before turning on his heel and heading back to his room.

Mrs. Holmes felt tears threaten to fall as she looked at the envelope and read her son's spidery writing, "Happy Christmas John".

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_SH: I left a note for you with my mother. Feel free to stop by the Manor to pick it up._

_JW: I really don't want anything from you._

_SH: Why? It's for you._

_JW: You're hopeless._

_SH: I miss you. Everyone here is incredibly dull._

_JW: You could at least try to make friends._

_SH: I don't want to._

_JW: Then I'm not going to feel bad about you being bored. _

_SH: You could come visit me. I'm sure my parents would pay for the train ticket._

_JW: Sherlock, I'm not going to come visit the ass who cheated on me and got high just because he's bored. _

_SH: Honestly John. You know I hate repeating myself. How many times do I have to tell you that it meant nothing until you believe me?_

_JW: You do realize that I don't care whether it meant anything to you or not, right?_

_SH: Then why are you still mad?_

_JW: Because it meant something to me. Something not good._

_SH: Oh. I didn't think of it like that._

_JW: Well done, you._

_SH: Is that why everyone is mad at me?_

_JW: I can't speak for anyone else, but that's definitely why I'm mad at you._

_SH: How do I fix it?_

_JW: This isn't something you fix._

_SH: I don't want you to be mad at me._

_JW: That's too bad._

_SH: I don't know why you're being like this._

_JW: Being like what?_

_SH: So stubborn. I know that you miss me too._

_JW: I really don't._

_SH: Yes you do._

_JW: I make it a point not to miss my ex-boyfriends._

_SH: You're a terrible liar._

_ JW signed out._

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"I really don't think this is the best idea." Mrs. Watson said.

"It'll be fine." John reassured her. "I'm just going over for dinner."

"But sweetie…" His mum said again.

"I know what I'm doing." John cut in. "I miss them and I really do want to see them again."

"Just don't feel obligated to stay there if you get uncomfortable." She said.

"Mum," John said rolling his eyes. "I'm not a blithering mess. I'll be fine. It's just dinner."

"I just worry." She said. "Your aunt says that you still aren't sleeping well."

"I'm fine, Mum." He said. "Just don't worry."

"I'm your mother." She answered. "It's my job to worry. I just want you to be okay."

"Thanks, Mum." He said.

"I've missed you." She said pulling him into a hug.

"I've missed you too." He answered.

"But you're happy in London?" She asked.

"I'm good." He said.

The doorbell went and Mrs. Hudson quickly pulled him into a tight hug as soon as he opened the door. They chatted for a bit before stepping out into the cold. The ride was short and full of chatter. It seemed that no time had passed between them. They caught up on their shows and Mrs. Hudson told him about some of the exciting events that they'd had at the Manor since he'd been away. Mrs. Holmes seemed just as excited to see him as she kissed his forehead twice before pulling him into another big hug. Dinner was lovely and there was no lull in the conversation. They chatted for hours after dinner letting the subject of Sherlock stay locked tightly away. Mr. Holmes and Mycroft were unable to make it and John secretly thought this was a wonderful turn of events. He was always a bit more nervous around the males of this family. It was getting to be close to 11pm when his third big yawn seemed to shake the two women out of their current dialogue regarding the renovations of the greenhouse. Mrs. Holmes tutted and kissed him again as they bundled him up to head home. He was just turning to walk out the door when Mrs. Holmes placed a hand gently on his arm to stop him.

"Sherlock wanted me to give this to you." She whispered quietly, holding out an envelope.

"Oh." John said dumbly as he took it feeling some of his good mood fray a bit. "Thanks."

"I know what he did was unforgivable." Mrs. Holmes said. "But I really do think that he cares about you."

"Just not enough." John said firmly before heading out into the cold.

The car ride back was a lot quieter but John would have to have been blind not to catch the worried glances that Mrs. Hudson kept sending his way. They pulled up outside his house and he thanked Mrs. Hudson as she pulled him into another hug.

"Do you have plans for the summer?" She asked. "We'd love to have you at the Manor again."

"I'm sorry." He said brokenly. "I don't think I can. There's just too much…that didn't work out."

"I understand, dearie." She said patting his cheek gently. "But do keep in touch. You really are a very special young man."

John scoffed lightly but didn't say anything else about it. "It was wonderful to see you again."

"You too, dearie." She said.

"Happy Christmas." He said.

"And the same for you and your family." She said.

"Goodbye." He said before slipping out of the car and heading back to his house. He crept upstairs and collapsed on his bed clutching at the envelope in his fingers. He turned on his bedside lamp and broke the seal gently before pulling out a couple sheets of paper and reading the largest sheet:

_I thought about what you might want for Christmas and this is what I came up with. I hope you like it. I miss you._

John felt his breath constrict in his lungs before pulling out the smaller sheet to read it as well. He felt his eyes go blurry and he couldn't help the sob that escaped his lips. He clutched at the sheets desperately and curled up on his bed wishing that all of this pain would stop. He just wanted to stop feeling this way but this wound in his chest seemed incapable of healing. It just ached and ached. He read over the sheets a few more times letting the words send deliciously addictive pangs through him.

_Sherlock Holmes, upon the holder redeeming this promissory note, agrees to admit defeat and offer up his heart to John Watson as proof of ownership. _

_I'm yours, John._

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"You know that I don't believe a word that you're telling me, right?" His therapist said with a wry grin.

"I don't care whether you believe it or not," Sherlock said firmly. "That's my answer."

"So, you're telling me that the reason you are giving away all of the things that your parents are shipping up here is because you want to bond with your peers." She said arching her eyebrow.

"That's the normal bullshit that regular people do when wanting to interact with stupid people, right?" He said rolling his eyes.

"You are full of it." She said smiling. "What's your arrangement with Sebastian? He always does this. He makes these deals with the newer boys. What's his hook?"

"No matter how much you goad me," He said. "I'm much too intelligent to reveal anything incriminating."

"I could care less about reporting this." She shrugged. "I just want to know what's causing you, of all people, to be agreeable with Sebastian."

Sherlock turned to stare out the window.

"This has something to do with John." She said.

"We're not discussing John." Sherlock said firmly.

"Fine." She said. "What did you get for Christmas?"

"Nothing." He said.

"What do you mean?" She asked. "Your parents sent all sorts of stuff last week."

"I didn't get anything important." He said.

"You mean you didn't get anything from John." She said.

He looked away again.

"Did you expect him to send you something?" She asked.

"I hoped." He said quietly. "He's…polite like that…I thought he would…but…I guess not."

"Thought he would what?" She asked.

"I sent him something." He said quietly. "Weeks ago with my mother. I thought he might…"

"Well, he's only been back for a bit." She said attempting to reassure him. "Perhaps it's on its way."

"What are you talking about?" He asked. "Only been back from where?"

He watched as his therapist's eyebrows rise incredibly high before she glanced away and cleared her throat, "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?" He asked getting angry.

"John doesn't live at home anymore." She said.

"What!" He asked. "Where does he live?"

"In London with his aunt." She said. "Where are you going!"

He ignored her as he strode out of the room. He ran back to his room and unscrewed the air vent behind his bed. He pulled out the gadget Sebastian had secured for him weeks ago and flipped it on violently. He was so angry he could hardly see straight.

_SH: Why in the fuck didn't you tell me?_

_Mycroft: Should I be concerned as to how you got access to the internet? I thought the policy at that facility was incredibly stringent._

_SH: Stop being such a prick and tell me._

_Mycroft: I assume you're talking about John's relocation._

_SH: Well done. What the hell is going on?_

_Mycroft: John was sent to live with his aunt in London. That's the only thing that is 'going on', Sherlock._

_SH: Why didn't you or Mother tell me?_

_Mycroft: It is none of your business where John lives._

_SH: Of course it is! _

_Mycroft: No, it's not. You lost the right to that information several months ago._

_SH: How is he?_

_Mycroft: Did you have anything else you wanted Sherlock or can I get back to work?_

_SH: You aren't even going to tell me how he is?_

_Mycroft: No._

_SH: You're a bastard._

_Mycroft: And you're a selfish, spoiled child. Grow up Sherlock and maybe you'll earn that right back._

_Mycroft signed out._


	21. Chapter 21

Sherlock was lying sprawled out on his bed feeling his mind atrophy from stagnation. He was staring out the window watching the rain slam against the glass as the February storm raged outside. He'd given up since January. He spent most of his days ignoring appointments and groups.

"You've a phone call, Holmes." He said politely.

"Tell Mycroft I prefer to text." Sherlock growled.

"You can tell him yourself," The orderly replied. "Contrary to popular belief, I am not your personal assistant. This is the first time you've earned phone privileges in close to a month. And this poor git has been calling you every night for the past two weeks."

"Tell him to fuck off." Sherlock said angrily.

"Get your lazy arse out of bed and answer the phone." He said firmly. "I'm sick of your shit."

Sherlock practically crawled off the bed and wandered slowly to the head desk. He sneered at the woman handing him the receiver.

"Congratulations, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped. "You've sent me to a place full of staff so incompetent they seem completely incapable of passing on a simple message."

"Did you mean it?" John's voice said quietly.

Sherlock felt his jaw drop as his entire flooded with endorphins. He felt light-headed and giddy as his John's lovely voice skittered over his skin.

"John." He whispered like it was the answer to a prayer.

"Did you mean it?" John asked again. "What you wrote?"

"Every word." Sherlock said quickly.

"I just don't understand, Sherlock." John sighed heavily.

"Understand what?" Sherlock asked hating the uncertain restraint in John' voice.

"I don't understand how you can say the things you do and then do what you did."John answered.

"Because I was stupid." Sherlock said firmly. "I was completely stupid and I wasn't thinking. And I promise that I will never do anything like that ever again."

"Nobody can promise that." John said quietly. "Not anybody."

"But I'm not anybody, John." Sherlock said passionately turning away from the people watching him curiously. "I'm smart enough to know that you'll only ever forgive me once. And you mean too much for me to ever risk you leaving me again."

"And what makes you think that I'll forgive you this time?" John said and Sherlock could hear the anger lacing that addictive voice.

"Because," Sherlock said quietly. "We need each other. You need me just as much as I need you."

"I'm fine, ya know." John said roughly.

"John…"Sherlock said trying to break through that anger.

"No." John said. "I'm not some pathetic child who's spent the last six months pining for you."

"That's not what I meant." Sherlock answered.

"I'm fine, Sherlock." John said. "Goodbye."

Sherlock felt polarizing emotions rushing through him. He'd talked to John. His John. It had felt wonderful for those few short minutes talking to the shorter boy. John was still angry. But they'd talked. For the first time in six months, he'd talked to him. He could fix this. He knew he could. He felt like he could breathe again. He felt his mind kickstart at the promise of work. Real work. The most important work he's ever had to spend time on.

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"John? Are you alright?" Molly asked hesitantly.

"Yeah." He said. "I'm fine."

Molly glanced down at her friend. He was curled up under one of the staircases again.

"You do know that it's alright, don't you?" She said quietly.

"What are you talking about?" He asked.

"It's okay to admit that things aren't fine, John." She said crouching down next to him. "You always tell people that everything's fine now matter how much it isn't. You can be not okay."

"Really." John sighed. "I'm fine."

"Can I ask you a question?" She said hesitantly.

"Sure." He said shuffling over to allow her to crowd in next to him.

"Why did you move to London?" She said.

"You've never asked me that before." He said quietly.

"You always look sad, John." She said with a shrug. "I didn't want to make you sadder."

"I'm not sad." He sighed. "I'm just…I don't feel like myself."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want." She said bumping his shoulder lightly.

"It was my Mum's idea." He answered. "She felt like she wasn't able to take care of me working the hours she had to with my Dad gone and everything. But…"

"But?" She prompted after he fell silent.

"I sort of wanted to." He answered quietly.

"Why?" She asked.

He sighed heavily before burying his head in his hands. "There was this boy…"

He collapsed against Molly's shoulder as she wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. And for the first time, he told someone everything. About how they met and how John felt. He told her about Sherlock's smile and their time together. About Sherlock's drug use and Jim. About how Sherlock had ruined everything and how he didn't know what to do and he felt so lost. He fell silent and a weight lifted from his chest as his breathing evened out.

"Do you want to know what I think?" She asked quietly.

"Please." He said.

"I think this strange limbo is killing both of you." She said firmly. "You're both so consumed with uncertainty and pain that everything around you is becoming necrotic. Distance isn't going to help. It's just going to make the infection worse. You need to make a choice. Right now. Decide what you want. Decide whether to trust him again and make it work. Or cut your losses and let it go."

John sat up and turned to face his friend. The only friend he'd bothered to make in London and felt such a rush of joy that he had. He pulled her into a rough hug placing a big kiss on her cheek before climbing out from under the staircase and running for the door.

"Thank you, Molly!" He shouted behind him.

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Sherlock lay on his bed watching the drizzle cascade down his window. He'd just the spent the last thirty minutes listening to an array of petty felons sharing their feelings and he was literally sick with boredom. He rolled over and felt his interest pique up a bit.

"What's going on?" He asked.

"Why do you think something is going on?" His therapist asked.

"Obvious." He said rolling his eyes. "You never come onto the ward. You prefer to have your patients come to you. Something's changed, what is it?"

She just shrugged and motioned for him to follow her. He got up and followed her off of the ward and down the hallway. She stopped outside of a doorway and turned to face him. "Don't screw this up."

He felt his whole body start to quiver as she turned the door handle letting the door crack open. He caught his breath as a flash of blond hair showed through. He pushed the door open the rest of the way and for the first time in seven months, he laid eyes on John. His John. He rushed at the shorter boy and pulled him close wrapping his arms tightly around him and clutching tightly. He breathed in the scent and felt every muscle in his body relax at the feel of John burrowing into his chest. He ran his hands over John's back and ribs and neck and hair. It felt so right, so perfect. He huffed in irritation as John pulled away slightly but was mollified as John kept a tight grip on his shirt before raising his head letting Sherlock look into those bright blue eyes.

"I'm…" John said softly. "I'm not fine. Not really."

"John." Sherlock whispered gripping at John's neck making sure that John couldn't look away.

"I know that I said I was." John continued searching Sherlock's face intensely and the taller boy felt his heart stutter under the familiar gaze. "But I'm not."

"I'm not either." Sherlock said passionately.

"I've tried." He said. "I've really tried to be okay without you. To be happy without you."

Sherlock's entire mind seemed to crack under the weight of those words. He couldn't bear the thought of John moving on and leaving him behind.

"But I can't." John said. "I don't know what to do, Sherlock. Because I shouldn't still want to see you or spend time with you because you hurt me. So badly."

"John, I'm sorry." Sherlock said intensely. "I'm so sorry. I swear it'll never happen again. I will never ever hurt you like that again. I promise."

"I know." John said firmly rubbing his thumb across Sherlock's cheekbone. "Because this is it. One chance. I need you, Sherlock. So, one more chance. And heaven help you if you fuck me over again."

Sherlock felt his knees buckle a bit and he pulled the shorter boy down with him to the carpet. He ran his hands reverently over John's skin letting the joy and hope show radiantly on his face. "I promise."

Their smiles matched perfectly, just as they always had. And finally, Sherlock pulled John to him and kissed him with everything he had. God, it was like heaven. The familiar touch and taste sending bolts of electricity and heat all over his skin. He felt his heart clench as John's hands roamed a bit hesitantly over his arms and neck. They sat there relearning each other as quickly as they could. His entire body was on fire as John finally let out a whispery little moan. Sherlock pulled back to stare into heat-filled eyes and he had never been happier in his entire life.

"I missed you." Sherlock said resting their foreheads together. "So much."

"I missed you too, you arse." John said with a hint of a smile.

"What made you come?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"My friend told me that I needed to choose." He whispered. "And I realized that the option of never seeing you again wasn't an option I could ever take."

"God, John." Sherlock breathed. "I just…I'm yours, forever. You know that, right? I'm yours."

John kissed him fiercely and Sherlock felt the confirmation sizzle over his skin. They clung to each other whispering reassurances and promises until a subtle knock sounded over the room. They broke apart, fixed their disheveled clothing, and stood up as the doorknob turned and his therapist walked into the room. Sherlock clung a bit tighter to John fearing that he would disappear and then Sherlock would wake up and this all would have been a dream.

His therapist smiled happily at John and held out her hand. "You must be John."

"Hello." John said with a giddy smile.

"I'm Sherlock's therapist, Irene Adler." She said pleasantly.

"Bit of a handful then?" John said bumping his shoulder lightly.

"Isn't he always?" Irene said with a grin.

Sherlock huffed lightly but leaned into the blond as John began to rub light circles on his lower back. Irene studied them for a bit before shrugging lightly. "Well, John. What are your plans for dinner?"

Sherlock felt his pulse race as a blush rose to John's cheeks. "I hadn't actually thought that far ahead."

"Settle in." She said waving to some couches along the far wall. "I'll grab some trays from the refectory and you boys can eat here."

"Thank you." John said happily.

She exited quickly and Sherlock practically dragged John over to the sofa before plunking him down and arranging the shorter boy's limbs so that Sherlock could curl against his chest.

"You're like a limpet." John chuckled running his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls.

"God, I've missed you." Sherlock whispered. "Who told you where I was anyway?"

"Your brother. Which reminds me…" John said continuing to play with the unruly curls but he squirmed a bit to get to his pocket. He traced something up and down Sherlock's back. "Mycroft got me the nicest Christmas present."

Sherlock huffed into the jumper-clad stomach before replying, "Was it Machiavelli?"

"No." John said. "He bought me a cell phone."

Sherlock jerked at that and sat up kneeling between John's open thighs. "What?"

"Yeah," John said with a mischievous grin. "He got you one too. It's in my bag. And I'm supposed to tell you to stop pandering to those woefully idiotic boys and spend your time atoning for your bad behavior."

"He got us phones so that we can stay in touch?" Sherlock asked incredulous.

"I believe so." John said.

"That's unexpected." Sherlock whispered.

"But good, right?" John asked hesitantly.

Sherlock stole a kiss from the shorter boy before responding, "Brilliant."

They kissed languidly, neither ready to break contact anytime soon. They spent the rest of the afternoon and evening chatting while lying wrapped around each other on the couch. Sherlock asked John about London and resolved to move there once his imprisonment in Scotland was over. John giggled at the stories Sherlock shared of his exploits at the facility and Sherlock felt goosebumps race across his skin at the sound. They finally parted at half nine because John's train back to London was leaving soon. They clung to each other and John promised to visit soon leaving one more passionate kiss on the taller boy's lips before turning to go.

Sherlock was escorted back to his room and laid down gently on his bed clutching the cell phone tightly in his hand. For the first time in seven months, Sherlock felt sleep easing through his limbs happily as he let the memories of that day seep into his subconscious to keep him company in his dreams.

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**These boys had suffered enough, don't you think?**


	22. Chapter 22

**I'm sorry! I normally upload each morning but I had to be at work at 6:30a this morning so I didn't have time. Please forgive me!**

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"Technically," Sherlock said firmly. "He hit John first."

"I'm aware of that." Irene said rubbing her temples as she stared at the boys in front of her. "But John breaking his nose is not good."

"I apologized." John huffed.

"I know you did." Irene answered. "I just want to know what happened."

Sherlock opened his mouth but Irene held up a hand to stop him, "From John please. He won't lie."

Sherlock huffed but turned to face John who was holding an ice pack to his slowly bruising eye. "We were sitting under the tree by the pond when Sebastian walked up to us. He started yelling and talking about Sherlock owing him a new video game or something. I told him to back off and then he called Sherlock a freak and I told him to back the fuck off. He hit me in the eye and I told him to get the fuck away from us and then he turned to hit Sherlock as well. That's when I broke his nose. He started crying and ran off. That's when the orderlies showed up and brought us all in here. I apologized because the git was crying like a baby but he just started yelling again. Sorry."

Irene dropped her face in her hands for a few minutes before staring at the boys again. She couldn't actually stay mad at them. As she watched Sherlock wrap a protective arm around John and lean into his side, she could only feel slightly awed at this extraordinary boy who seemed to capture the affections of Sherlock.

"Why didn't you hit him, Sherlock?" She asked curiously.

"John told me not to." Sherlock shrugged not looking away from the shorter boy. "I knew that if I got in a fight with Sebastian, John wouldn't be able to stay. I'd lose my privileges."

Irene shook her head wryly staring at this impossibly wonderful match. "You boys are giving me a headache."

"I am sorry." John said quietly. "I just…I couldn't let him hit Sherlock."

"It's fine." She sighed. "He technically started it and you were just defending yourself. We'll have to move you to a new room though, Sherlock."

"I'm fine with that." Sherlock shrugged.

"Alright." She said. "Get out of here. John's train leaves in a couple of hours."

They turned to leave as she called after them, "Don't get into anymore trouble!"

She collapsed back into her desk chair and took a few deep breaths before picking up her phone and dialing.

"So what is your recommendation, Dr. Adler?" The voice said as a greeting.

"I think it would be the cruelest form of torture to keep those boys apart." She said honestly.

"The codependency does worry me a bit." Mr. Holmes said hesitantly.

"I wouldn't encourage it for most people." She answered. "But they help each other. They protect each other."

"So, having Sherlock stay with Mycroft in London would be better for his recovery?" Mr. Holmes asked.

"Not just his recovery." She said. "I think it will make him a better person."

"Thank you." He said. "I appreciate you taking the time."

"Not at all." She answered. "Sherlock is a fascinating young man. They both are really."

"I do believe you're correct." He said, and Irene smiled catching the first glean of emotion in the man's voice.

"He discharges in a month." Irene said.

"Wonderful." He said. "I believe that my wife and Mycroft will be there to accompany him home."

"Fantastic." She replied. "Have a good day, Mr. Holmes."

"You as well, Dr. Adler." He said before hanging up.

She swiveled in her chair letting a fond smile settle on her features as she watched John and Sherlock lounge under the tree again. Sherlock resting on John's stomach as the shorter boy played with his dark curls.

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"Why exactly couldn't John be here?" Sherlock scoffed as they finished packing his bags into the boot of the car.

"Despite what you may think, Sherlock." Mycroft said, twirling his umbrella. "His world doesn't entirely revolve around you."

"That's your opinion." Sherlock said snarkily.

"Stop it, you two." Anna Holmes sighed. "We have a four hour drive. Could you please attempt to get along civilly for at least the drive back?"

"Yes, Mummy." Mycroft said obediently while Sherlock just snorted in reply.

Sherlock spent the time staring listlessly out the window. John had been mysteriously unreachable via text all morning. John had assured him that he'd be at the Manor when Sherlock returned but had been unable to make the drive to pick him up because his train back from London didn't arrive until early afternoon. John had elected to stay in London for the summer taking a summer job at a restaurant as a prep cook. It sounded incredibly dull to Sherlock but he couldn't really complain considering that John was able to travel up to see him once every couple of weeks. Sherlock couldn't wait to see John again. If he was being completely honest with himself, he'd have to admit that getting John alone for an extended period of time was his top priority. He was incredibly ecstatic every time he saw the shorter boy, but they were always being watched which was causing a frustration of a different sort. He wanted John so badly. He was determined to lock the blond up for at least seventy-two hours to satisfy his more carnal urges regarding the shorter boy. The idea sent delicious heat crawling up his spine.

Seeing the long driveway for the first time in a year sent a jolt of excitement through his body. He was practically quivering as his mother pulled the car into the garage. He leapt out ignoring the indignant huffs from his older brother and made a beeline for the house. He returned Mrs. Hudson's hug earnestly but pulled away quickly running up the stairs to his room. He took stock and felt a shot of anxiety at the boxes lining the walls.

"Deduced it yet?" He heard John's smug growl from behind him. He was incredibly curious about the state of his room, but he had his priorities after all. He whipped around and almost threw John against the wall. He let all of his frustration and need flow into the shorter boy through the contact of hand to hip, hand to neck, lips to lips. This was all he would ever need. This heat and security and happiness.

He smiled into the kiss as he felt John's body respond just as quickly as his own. They'd been careful about restraint while at the facility. It was much easier to restrict their caresses and kisses to slow, soft affection than to try to rein in their urges of more…intense…emotions. But there were no orderlies wandering around. No prying eyes of the other boys. And no insufferably smug smiles from that woman. There were only John's hands rubbing circles against his hip bones. John's mouth tracing a hot line against the taller boy's jaw. John's firm chest crushed against his own. Sherlock ran his hands through the blond strands and felt electricity skitter across his skin.

He groaned in frustration as John pushed back a bit fixing Sherlock with that adorable smirk. "I'm not going to get off with you in your room with your mother and brother downstairs, you git."

"Why the fuck not?" Sherlock whined. "I need you so badly."

John crushed their lips together again before growling back. "Don't say things like that. You'll make me come in my pants."

"Interesting." Sherlock said licking at John's ear. "That sounds like an experiment."

"Get back, you lusty stork." John giggled. "Care to tell me what you deduced from your room?"

"I'm moving." Sherlock rolled his eyes. This was child's play.

"Well done, genius." John said. "Where to?"

Sherlock glanced around and felt warmth flood through him as he turned back to the blond with a huge grin lighting up his features. "London."

"You'll be staying with Mycroft." John added. "Just a few miles from my aunt's flat actually."

Sherlock kissed him soundly effusing the touch with every ounce of excitement that was filling him to the brim. They broke apart as Sherlock's mother called to them from down the hall. "Boys! We've got tea and cake."

John had to practically pry Sherlock's hands off of him before hurrying down the hall. Sherlock followed grumbling but obedient. They quickly grabbed some cake and a cup of tea before turning to perch next to each other on the couch.

"I'm sorry boys." Mrs. Holmes sighed turning to look at Mrs. Hudson. "But we have a lot of business to discuss regarding the dinner being held here tomorrow. Why don't you get out and enjoy the sunshine while we talk?"

John didn't resist as Sherlock grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him out onto the grounds. They were barely three feet out of the door before Sherlock gripped John's waist and pulled them flush against each other.

"Fancy a swim?" Sherlock purred and smiled smugly at the shiver that ran through his John.

"Oh, god yes." John whispered.

They ran to the pond and stripped down to their pants quickly before wading into the cool water. John pulled Sherlock close and wrapped his arms tightly around the taller boy's neck. Sherlock felt his entire body flood with heat as the shorter boy took charge, pulling up and wrapping his legs around Sherlock's waist before moving his hips seductively. Wrapping his arm's possessively around John's waist, the taller boy sucked at the delicious skin just below the blond's earlobe. He felt tendrils of hot lust settle in his gut as John began to move rhythmically against his hips. They kissed and sucked and licked for what seemed like hours meanwhile maintaining that steady, rhythmic thrust of their quickly hardening cocks.

"Sherlock," John panted struggling to form coherent thoughts. "I want you…I need you to…god, why is it so hard to say it?"

"Say it, John." Sherlock gasped. "Please."

John seemed to gather courage around him before whispering silkily. "Fuck me."

Sherlock was fairly certain that he'd never heard anything more arousing and wonderful in his entire life. He motioned for John to drop down but kept a firm hold on the shorter boy has he nudged him backwards. They were just stepping out of the water when a dark chuckle sent a pulse of chill through Sherlock's veins.

"Fucking the pets, Sherlock?" Jim giggled. "Oh, how sweet. You're even servicing the crippled runt of the litter."

Sherlock could practically feel John's embarrassed blush radiate off his skin and the taller boy's heart hitched painfully as he felt John hide his scar from Jim's gaze behind Sherlock's leg. How dare he? How dare that insufferable useless prick hurt his John? And then, Sherlock felt something grab hold of his consciousness. It was pure loathing and it was directed at this sniveling little shit standing a few short feet away insulting the one person who truly understood and accepted the genius.

Sherlock glanced over at John to gauge his expression and his heart leapt with affection at the sight of it. His John. So steady and sure and brave. He wasn't cowering from Jim. He wasn't scared of him. John was standing relaxed but attentive. His gaze was sure and trusting. He trusted Sherlock. Trusted him to make the right decision.

And with that simple gesture of confidence, Sherlock felt grounded, solid, strong. He felt capable of anything if only because John believed in him. It was a rush better than drugs. It was clearer and cleaner and infinitely more exhilarating. It was love. Fuck. It was love.

Sherlock felt his entire brain short-circuit from information overload and resolved to spend the rest of the afternoon cataloging and relishing in this new revelation. He would begin straight away. He just had to get rid of this little pest first.

Sherlock completely forgot the fact that he was dripping wet and wearing only his shorts. He strode forward with purpose and adjusted his stance before slamming his fist into Jim's cheek. He felt a delightful jolt of pleasure as he watched the druggie at his feet wail and clutch his face.

"You always did underestimate me, Jim." Sherlock sneered. "I'm a very proficient boxer and, according to my therapist, I have anger issues when forced to interact with inferior beings. That would be you, of course."

"That's bullshit." Jim said wildly as he jerked to a standing position. "You need me."

"Oh, please." Sherlock said rolling his eyes. "The only thing I ever needed from you was a 7% solution. Now that I have more important things to fill my time with, I'm afraid you've become superfluous."

"You'll be back." Jim shouted. "You'll get sick of your little crippled mutt and come crawling back."

Sherlock didn't even think before shifting to throw another powerful punch at Jim's nose breaking it soundly and sending a spurt of blood down the psycho's face. "Don't for a second think I will hesitate to end you, Jim. And I am a bloody genius; no one would actually be able to identify your body."

Sherlock felt a fierce rush through his chest as Jim turned quickly and rushed away through the underbrush. He was breathing heavily and small tremors were running over his skin as the adrenaline fought against his parasympathetic nervous system. He let John direct him to a nearby tree and almost fell to the ground as his legs turned to jelly. At the feel of John's hands through his hair, he reached forward and pulled the shorter boy close resting his head against John's chest so he could hear that wonderfully strong heartbeat echo through his own body.

"How do you feel?" John asked quietly.

"Lucky." Sherlock whispered. "I feel so lucky."

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**Let me know if that is enough payback for that little shit, Jim. I can always torture him more if you ask nicely.**


	23. Chapter 23

**I'm so sorry! My internet went down in my apartment building and I haven't been able to get to a viable connection since Friday night! So, I'm currently sitting at Denny's with my smut-filled story eating pancakes and hashbrowns with ketchup. I hope no one looks at my screen too closely. haha. I hope you enjoy!**

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"Lucky?" John asked confused.

Sherlock pulled John down until he was straddling the taller boy's thighs. He wrapped his hands lightly around John's neck caressing those golden cheek bones reverently. He answered John's question with a firm, steady kiss reveling in touch as John relaxed into him resting his hands against Sherlock's waist and rubbing softly. Sherlock felt his body slowly return to normal as his sympathetic nervous system switched off allowing his heart rate to return to a steady cadence to match the shorter boy's.

"John?" Sherlock asked hesitantly pulling away. There was too much he didn't know. Too much he hadn't been able to deduce. He felt this warm, safe weight against his heart but he couldn't trust it yet. Not really. Incomplete data sets. Unexplained outliers. Too many variables. Extraneous. They muddled up his findings. He had to rerun the tests. Gather new data before coming to a statistically significant answer.

He glanced at John's face and was able to read the thoughts on that gorgeous face. John was studying him. Knowing that something had shifted. Something was about three degrees off from center and John was looking at Sherlock to determine the direction of the conversation. "Hmm?"

"That woman said something during one of my insufferable sessions with her." Sherlock whispered feeling a blush creep up his skin.

"And what was that?" John said, running his fingers idly through the wet curls.

"Some psychobabble that gave me a migraine." Sherlock huffed. "But she…she said something…disconcerting."

"Okay." John said lightly.

"She wanted me to tell her why you chose me." He whispered. "She said that she understood why I chose you. But she wanted me to explain why you chose me."

"Sherlock…" John sighed.

"No, John." Sherlock said sternly. "I know that you do care about me. I know that. What I don't understand is why? Why me? You're amazing, John. You're wonderful and interesting and steady and people seem to flock to you. You could be with anyone. So, why me?"

"Because you're an idiot." John said firmly causing Sherlock's gaze to jerk upward and meet the warm eyes of his John. "Look at me, Sherlock. Really look. Tell me why I'm here."

Sherlock searched the shorter boy's face and felt those pangs of affection hit his heart wildly. "You like me."

"Well done." John said with a grin. "But I was hoping you would look a bit deeper than that."

Sherlock felt a smirk flash across his features and continued to stare at his John. "You're attracted to me. You smile when I walk in a room. You giggle when I say something smart or funny. I entertain you."

"You amaze me." John corrected. "The giggle is just a side effect. When I'm with you, it's like standing in a thunderstorm or jumping out of a plane. It's wild and terrifying and wonderful and exhilarating. You make me incredibly, nauseatingly happy. That's why I chose you. Because you take me, take my life, and you make it a thousand times better."

Sherlock pulled the shorter boy close and crushed their lips together feeling his entire body flush with want and love. His desire flooded back into his body as John moaned softly into the embrace. He shifted and twisted so that his back was no longer against the tree. He lay down on the grass and pulled John down on top of him. He relished the feel of John's warm body weighing him down, protecting him. He gripped John's hips and thrust lightly with his clothed covered hips against the blond's. John stretched out above him and separated Sherlock's thighs with one of his tanned legs grinding down softly. Sherlock gasped lightly as John pressed heat-filled kisses against his neck and collarbone. Humming in delight as his cock twitched to meet John's, he thrust up letting electricity radiate throughout his body from his now erect cock.

"John." He gasped. "I need…to feel you."

John was an amazingly intelligent young man. He quickly stripped off his own pants and helped Sherlock out of his. They both groaned in time as their erections brushed against each other's free from their pants. Sherlock grabbed John's arse and pulled him down roughly against himself and moaned from the sensation.

"Fuck…Sherlock." John murmured against the taller boy's collarbone. John shifted up and stole a kiss from Sherlock as he began grinding their hips together in earnest. The shorter boy shifted his weight onto one elbow allowing his free hand to wrap around their cocks as he began stroking lightly.

"Oh, god." Sherlock whimpered. "Harder, please, harder."

John gripped more tightly letting the soft skin of their erections brush together quickly sending jolts of hazy pleasure through both boys. Sherlock raked his fingers down John's back grabbing and squeezing his arse firmly letting the beginnings of his orgasm coil deliciously in his gut.

He jerked with want and need as John's hips began to stutter in rhythm and his hand began moving quickly brushing his thumb against Sherlock's head roughly. Sherlock moaned loudly as his orgasm crashed through him sending delicious heat coursing over his skin as he felt John come against his stomach. The shorter boy collapsed on top of him as they both gasped and shuddered against the sensation onslaught.

"Never…" Sherlock gasped. "Never again will I let it be a year before I get to see you like this again."

"Like what?" John whispered into his skin.

"So deliciously naked and wanton and spent against me." Sherlock growled softly holding John close.

"Good." John said snuggling against him. "Because the feeling's mutual. Now let's get cleaned up before we're cemented against each other."

They dragged themselves back into the pond and cleaned up quickly before climbing out and pulling their pants back on. They basked in the sunshine dozing lightly and gripping each other tightly for the rest of the afternoon.

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"Oh this is a happy coincidence, isn't it?" Mycroft smirked scarily. "What are the odds that if I sat here quietly reading a book on the day that Sherlock returned by this particular walking path I would run into you, Jim?"

Jim held a hand to his still bleeding nose and glared at the tall man in front of him. He could feel the bruises blooming on his face. He was furious and this prick was not helping.

"Fuck off." Jim growled angrily.

"That does look painful." Mycroft continued. "Did you not anticipate Sherlock's right hook?"

Jim went to stalk around the asshat but was stopped by the end of an umbrella. "Fuck off."

"I'm pretty sure that I warned you about what would happen if you came onto my property again." Mycroft said coldly.

"You must never get laid," Jim said viciously. "If you have this much free time to devote to the laughable attempt to protect that fuckslut's virtue."

"Wrong on both counts, I'm afraid." Mycroft said nonchalantly. "I am quite satisfied sexually. And I don't need to protect my younger brother. He's more than capable of taking care of himself. I just like torturing you."

Jim attempted to walk away again but was tripped by that blasted umbrella again. He whirled around to hit that infernal git and was stopped by the cold, hard stare on the elder Holmes's face.

"You see, Jim." Mycroft said evenly. "Sherlock will let you go once and if you ever attempt to interfere with him again, they won't be able to identify your body. But I'm not like that. With me, they'll never even find your body. Or any actual evidence that you existed at all. I'll erase you."

"More death threats?" Jim scoffed.

"Who said anything about killing you?" Mycroft smirked darkly. "I just said they wouldn't find you."

Jim felt something cold slide through his body and jumped as two sets of hands gripped his shoulder painfully. He struggled and jerked and fought but to no avail. The brutes had him firmly between them. He felt rage and fear race through his system as he stared at the impassive face of Mycroft Holmes. "You and I are going to have so much time to get to know one another. Won't that be fun?"

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"Thanks for dinner, Mum." John said gathering up the plates to wash them up.

"Yes, thank you." Sherlock said awkwardly.

Awkward was the only real emotional response to have after that little dinner. Saying that his Mum was uncomfortable with the situation was an understatement. She'd been polite but incredibly quiet. She was still a bit miffed by Sherlock and wasn't particularly happy with John's relationship, but she was much too polite to ever voice that opinion. If it had been anyone else that John had brought home, they would never have noticed his mother's dislike. But this was Sherlock bloody Holmes. He had John's Mum pegged from the minute she set the asparagus on the table. It was almost silent at the table with his mother occasionally asking questions about Sherlock's plans for the next year and John's studies.

His Mum had all but demanded that this dinner take place when he had informed her of Sherlock's return from his stint in rehab. Her exact words were, "I need to meet the boy that you seem so determined to forgive after everything you went through".

He threw a silent prayer of thanks to the heavens that his Mum had to leave for work within the next few minutes. He couldn't wait for this awful night to be over. They cleaned up the kitchen quickly and his Mum kissed him lightly on the cheek before sighing and leaving the house.

He turned to apologize to his boyfriend but found him smiling lightly in his chair at the table. "What's got you in such a good mood after that?"

Sherlock stood and pulled him into a kiss before snuggling in to breathe in John's scent. "I can't really be mad about her not liking me. I was a complete arse last year."

"True." John said lightly. "But I am sorry it was so awkward."

"Awkward I am more than capable of dealing with." Sherlock murmured. "If it means, I get to spend the rest of the evening with you."

"Oh, really." John said feeling heat radiate off the taller boy and seep into his skin. "What do you think we should do?"

Sherlock pulled back to stare at John with those wonderful eyes before reaching into his pocket to pull out a condom. "If you want?"

John felt his entire body flood with want as he stared at the tiny packet clutched in his boyfriend's hand. His mind seemed to shatter momentarily as the implications of that little wrapped up promise gripped his consciousness.

"Only if you're ready," Sherlock reassured him.

"Yes." John breathed pulling Sherlock in to kiss him passionately. "God yes."

They practically ran up the stairs to John's bedroom and John let Sherlock begin stripping off his jumper and undershirt. "Do you remember when I slept up here?"

"How could I forget?" John breathed as he helped Sherlock out of his clothes. "My sheets smelt like you for days."

"Did you know that I pleasured myself on those sheets?" Sherlock purred. "After you left me to go downstairs, I curled up against your pillow and wanked at the thought you lying here beside me."

John froze with lust and want gripping at Sherlock's neck tightly. "Holy fuck."

Sherlock's fingers grazing against the bulge in his pants brought him back to life as he groaned into the touch. He pulled Sherlock into a bruising kiss, brushing his thumbs against Sherlock's nipples and smirking at the gaspy moan that issued from Sherlock's mouth. They stripped off their pants quickly before collapsing against the bed and snogging fiercely.

Sherlock pulled away to find his trousers and pulled out a small sachet of lube before turning back to John with an intense, heat-filled stare. "Are you sure, John?"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life." John said firmly. "I need you in me. I need to feel you."

"Stop that right now or I'm going to come right now." Sherlock ordered lightly before kissing the shorter boy.

"We can't have that." John giggled.

Sherlock pulled back to look seriously at the boy beneath him. "I do want to warn you…it might hurt. The first time normally does."

"I'm aware." John said quietly. "But I trust you, Sherlock. I want this."

Sherlock felt his heart swell heavily in his chest before placing a gentle kiss on his John's forehead. "It will hurt less if you're on your stomach."

"Alright." John said rolling over. "I…you'll have to…I don't actually know all of the particulars."

"I've got you, John." Sherlock whispered placing a series of kisses along John's back. "Just relax. We have to open you up a bit."

John shivered at those words and spread his legs open suggestively sending bolts of pure lust through the taller boy. His hands were shaking lightly as he opened the condom and rolled it on first before lubing up two of his fingers liberally. He opened up John's cheeks gently before running a finger lightly against his entrance. John jerked lightly but his gasp was enough to allow Sherlock to dip one finger in feeling the muscles contracting at the invasion. "Take deep breaths. Just relax."

John pulled in a shuddering breath and groaned as Sherlock pushed a finger farther in and began pumping in and out gently before whispering, "How does that feel?"

"A bit strange," John murmured. "But good."

Sherlock continued the slow pumping and John shifted as another finger was added stretching him wider. "Fuck, John. This is so…you've no idea."

John felt his entire body simultaneously break out into a sweat and shiver roughly at the lust-hazed voice of his boyfriend. John curled one hand into his mouth and clutched the other one in the sheets. His entire body surged off the bed as Sherlock's fingers curled inside him and grazed his prostate. "Fuck!"

"I know." Sherlock purred. "Just wait. It gets so much better."

John felt his body open quickly as Sherlock relentlessly pulsed in and out brushing against his prostate over and over. "Sherlock, now. Please. Fuck. Me. Now."

Sherlock shivered at the wanton demand and stretched himself over John to place a light sucking kiss against his shoulder blades. "God yes. Bend your knees."

John complied and felt anticipation flood through his body as Sherlock placed a hand on his hip and pushing the head of his cock lightly against the blond's entrance. He pushed in slowly and John winced and whimpered at the pressure and stretch.

"Just breathe, John." Sherlock gasped. "Fuck. Just relax."

John forced his breathing to slow and tried to relax his muscles around the head of Sherlock's cock. He was shivering and fidgeting at the discomfort.

"John." Sherlock said raggedly. "I think we should stop."

"No!" John almost shouted. "No. I want this. So badly. I just have to get used to it first."

He felt the rigid set of Sherlock's body as John fought against the instinctive need to pull away. "T-t-touch me."

He felt his body shift from pain to pleasure at Sherlock's light stroking on his cock. He let the high from Sherlock's fingers relax his body slowly before whispering, "Okay. More."

He held his breath as another of inch of Sherlock's erection filled him and huffed out at the feel of it. The realization flooded him with heat. He had Sherlock. In him. It was fucking hot. He moaned and pushed back a bit encouraging his boyfriend to push deeper. He gasped at the feel of Sherlock's erection against his prostate.

"John?" Sherlock gasped brokenly.

"Fuck me, Sherlock." John moaned. "God, fuck me."

He adjusted to the sensation of Sherlock moving in and out carefully and felt his skin flush with arousal. The sound of Sherlock's groan caused his hips to buck involuntarily. His own erection was hard and flushed against the curve of his stomach. Sherlock increased his speed leaving John hot and writhing beneath him.

"Oh, fuck." Sherlock gasped. "John, I'm going to…fuck."

John nodded dumbly as the sensations seemed to drive him slightly mad. He moaned loudly as Sherlock's free hand enveloped his hard-on and began pumping mercilessly. "

I want to feel you." Sherlock whispered. "I want to feel you come first, before I do."

The silky voice of his boyfriend made his own hips buck lightly and quickly as the sensation of Sherlock against his prostate sent him over the edge. His entire body convulsed and electricity sparked over his skin again and again as he came in a half a dozen strong jerks. Sherlock thrust in twice more before gasping John's name and filling the shorter boy. They both collapsed against the sheets breathing heavily and trying to reform their shattered minds. Sherlock pulled out slowly and disposed of the condom before grabbing his own pants and cleaning off John's stomach and arse carefully.

"There's a bit of blood." Sherlock murmured. "But everything looks okay. How do you feel?"

"Sore." John whispered as Sherlock curled against his back and pulled him close. "But wonderful."

He felt his heart skip as the taller boy clutched at him tighter leaving a trail of kisses along his neck and shoulders. "It was okay, then?"

"It was perfect." John said reassuringly.

"John?" Sherlock asked hesitantly.

The tone of his voice made John wince lightly as he turned to face the genius. "Hmm?"

"You matter to me." Sherlock said firmly. The taller boy ran a hand through John's hair before resting their foreheads together.

"I know." John said quietly. "And you matter to me."

Sherlock sighed heavily and let a small smile grace his beautiful features. He pulled John into his chest wrapped his arms protectively around the shorter boy as they both drifted off into a post-coital nap.

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**I bow down to the genius that are my readers! Don't worry. We're not done with Jim yet but spending time with Mycroft in a secret government facility should help with that awful attitude of his. Thanks again for reading and reviewing!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Writing smut in a coffee house this time. It's a bit liberating actually. Internet should be back tomorrow afternoon. Thanks for your patience!  
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John stirred lightly as Sherlock ran delicate lines up and down his back. He burrowed further into the taller boy's chest and breathed in the delicious scent of sweat and sex and Sherlock. He wanted to wake up to this every day. He glanced over at the clock and saw that it was only one in the morning.

"Have you even slept?" He asked roughly.

"A little." Sherlock answered. "I've mostly just been watching you sleep."

"That's a little creepy." John giggled. "See anything interesting?"

"You snore." Sherlock said simply.

"Oh god." John said rolling away.

"Come back here." Sherlock laughed pulling him close again. They kissed lazily for several minutes just letting the warmth of being together overwhelm them. Sherlock pulled back and racked his slim fingers through John's hair. "When do you go back to London?"

"Tomorrow." John sighed. "I've got to work a shift at the restaurant early Monday morning."

Sherlock huffed angrily and ran a line of rough kisses across John's collarbone. "I don't want to be where you're not anymore."

"You're moving to London within the week, you git." John giggled. "We've done five months of this. Seven more days won't ruin us."

"I don't care." Sherlock said firmly. "I'm tired of being away from you. Of only seeing you a handful of hours in a month. I just want to be with you."

John sucked in a ragged breath at Sherlock's words. He couldn't think of a proper response so made do with dragging the genius into a rough, heated kiss that had them both panting heavily at its conclusion. They fought to kick off the sheets as their bodies filled with lust. Sherlock ran his hands roughly over John's back as he crushed their bare chests together relishing the warm skin against his own. He groaned as John ran his thumbs over Sherlock's nipples feeling fire arc across his chest at the contact. He gasped as John slithered lower and latched onto one of them sucking and licking sending sparks straight to Sherlock's rapidly rising cock.

"Oh, fuck." He breathed heavily feeling John's own erection against his thigh. He grasped at the blond strands of John's hair and let the waves of heat wash over him. He pulled John up to kiss the breath out of the shorter boy running his hands down his back and grasping his arse and squeezing.

"Ow, you great idiot." John growled. "That area's still a bit tender."

Sherlock kissed away the pain before flipping them over and latching onto John's neck running his tongue all the way up to John's earlobe and sucking claiming it for his own.

"Oh fuck." John moaned grabbing at Sherlock's thighs and massaging them in time with the genius's tongue.

"Fuck me, John." He breathed heavily tracing a wet line down John's chest with his lips. "I want you inside me."

He felt John freeze beneath him and glanced up. He smiled in response to the look of lusty curiosity and fear on John's face. He moved up to lean heavily over the shorter boy and kissed him lightly. "Do you want to?"

"Y-yes." John panted. "But I don't…know what to do."

"It's incredibly fortunate then that you have me here."Sherlock purred. He claimed John's lips hungrily before pulling the shorter boy's hand up to him. He kissed the palm gently before grabbing for the lube and pouring it onto John's fingers. He shifted around to lie on his back and pulled John up and over him. He spread his legs open and felt warmth race through his body at the sight of John panting softly between his splayed thighs.

"Start with one finger." He whispered softly arching into the feel of John pushing lightly against his entrance. He could feel John trembling slightly as he worked his finger slowly in and out of him. He felt his body buzz with delight at the shorter boy working inside him. "Oh god. Another…another finger, John."

He moaned unabashedly as John slipped two digits in him and started pumping in and out slowly. His cock was hard and throbbing against his stomach and John's hand on his hip was like a branding iron against his skin. He groaned loudly as the blond's fingers grazed over his prostate and he arched his back in delight. "Fuck, John. That feels wonderful."

Oh, god. Sherlock." John panted. "This is…oh…I'm so hard right now."

He grappled with the sheets as John began scissoring his fingers apart to open Sherlock up more. Sherlock moaned and writhed pushing himself further onto John's fingers gasping at the brushes against the bundle of nerves nestled inside him. His entire body was buzzing with heat as the soft caresses inside him grew in confidence and speed.

"I've got to have you, Sherlock." John said brokenly. "Right now."

"Come here." Sherlock panted as he pulled the shorter boy up to kiss him wantonly, their lips brushing lightly allowing their tongues to move together freely. "Lie on your back."

John shifted against the bed and watched intently as Sherlock leaned down to grab another condom and sachet of lube from his trousers. The taller boy grinned at the unabashed moan that escaped from John as he rolled the condom deftly onto the blond's hard and swollen cock brushing lube over it liberally.

"Ready?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes." John groaned. "Fuck, yes."

Sherlock straddled the shorter boy carefully before guiding John's cock to his entrance and lowering himself gently. The blond's hand clutched Sherlock's thighs as he shook with need.

"You're so tight." John whispered. "Holy fuck."

Sherlock sighed in pleasure as he dropped lower taking John fully into himself up to the hilt. He stayed still for a few seconds adjusting to the feeling before moving slowly. He leaned forward resting his weight on his elbow catching John's gaze and holding it reveling in the desire and affection staring back at him from his boyfriend's eyes. John swallowed heavily before experimentally thrusting his hips up sending sparks of pleasure through both boys.

"Oh, John." Sherlock gasped finding the shorter boy's rhythm and matching it letting John's hips snap up into him again and again as his cock hit the taller boy's prostate.

"Sherlock." John moaned. "Oh Christ. This is…this is…"

"Touch me, John." Sherlock whispered. "Please."

Sherlock arched into the feel of a hand gripping his cock firmly and stroking quickly, "Yes. Like that. Oh. God."

Sherlock felt his entire body spasm lightly as his body prepared for his release. He felt his mind shatter at the onslaught of heat and touch and pleasure.

"John…fuck…I'm going to…yes…oh yes…" Sherlock stuttered as he rose higher and higher on the rush of his impending orgasm. It crashed over him in wave after wave of sparking and fizzing heat throughout his body. He was mumbling incoherently as the final spurts of come rung themselves out against John's chest. He held on as John came into him with a yelp of pleasure bucking wildly. He attempt to slow his pounding heart and gasping breaths as he pulled slowly out of the shorter boy, his skin oversensitive from his release. He collapsed against John and turned on his side to try to catch his gaze. John was huffing deeply with his arm thrown over his eyes.

"John." Sherlock nudged him lightly.

"Did you mean it?" John asked quietly.

"Mean what?" Sherlock said feeling his muscles shut down for sleep.

John moved his arm and stared at Sherlock intently for several seconds before turning to grab his undershirt to wipe off the come that was quickly cooling on his stomach.

"Mean what, John?" Sherlock asked again.

He saw John's wry grin before he rolled his eyes and poked Sherlock lightly in the side. "Nothing. I'm knackered. Come here and keep me warm."

They curled up together setting the alarm early enough to put themselves back together before John's mother got home.

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John stepped off the train and made his way slowly back to Debbie's flat. He was having a very difficult time keeping a stupid grin off his face entirely the fault of a certain tall genius. He couldn't seem to contain the emotions that were cascading happily through his cranium. He felt his skin flush a deep red at the memory of Sherlock on top of him gasping and panting into his orgasm. John wasn't exactly sure if what the taller boy said next actually counted or not, but he couldn't seem to push away the tingly electricity buzzing against his skin every time the memory rose to the front of his mind.

"Oh, god. I love you…I love you…love you." Sherlock had breathed as his body arched into the rush of his release.

"And the bloody arse didn't even realize he said it." John mumbled as he got off the Tube and walked the few blocks home. He opened the door and was pulled into a quick hug by Debbie who was determined to cook a homemade meal and had spent all afternoon cooking something gelatinous and terrifying. She was in the process of binning the entire experiment when John had got home.

"Take-away?" Debbie asked with a rueful grin.

"Definitely take-away." John answered. "Indian or Thai?"

They were just finishing up the pad thai and ginger chicken when Debbie ruffled his hair lightly. "You look so happy, John."

He blushed again before answering, "I really am."

"Oh, to be young and in love." Debbie said with a grin.

"You're hilarious." John said tossing a pillow at her.

"Yes, I do believe I am." She said chucking it back. "But we do have to have a bit of a chat."

"About what?" He asked curiously.

"Your mum called me today." She said sighing heavily and putting on her surrogate parent face.

"Oh?" John asked.

"While we're both extremely happy that you're using protection," She said firmly. "Don't you think you're a bit young, John?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He lied feeling his entire face burn scarlet.

"Your mum found the condoms in the bin in the garage, John." His aunt sighed. "Please don't lie to me. I'm not an idiot."

John began stammering oddly hating this conversation already, "But…it's…he's my boyfriend."

"Yes, he is." Debbie answered. "But you're only seventeen and this relationship is a bit new."

"I've known him for over a year." He said defensively.

"Yes, but for the majority of that time he was in a rehab facility after taking cocaine and cheating on you." Debbie said firmly. "You only just started seeing each other regularly again. Don't you think it's a bit soon to become that intimate?"

"But, I love him." John said with a resigned sort of conviction.

"Oh, John." She sighed. "I know you do. I'm not going to ban him from the flat or anything. Your mum and I just want you to be careful."

"So what are we talking about here then?" He asked.

"Flat rules." She said. "You will let me know via text or an actual phone call when you both are in the flat. You will answer all of my questions honestly and openly. You will not sneak out during the middle of the night. You will not skip classes during the day and you will not let your grades drop. He will not be staying over. You will use protection at all times and submit to doctor's appointments if I feel it's necessary. Do we have a deal?"

"Yeah, alright." He answered. "But don't you think you're being…"

"A bit overprotective?" His aunt finished for him. "Overprotective of my only nephew who spent almost eight months depressed and listless over the very boy who is now moving to London after a stint in rehab. No, I really don't think we are."

"Please promise me that you will at least try to get along with him." John said quietly. "Mum can barely even look at him."

"I promise that I will give him the benefit of the doubt." She hedged. "Because you like him."

"Thank you." He sighed.

"When is he arriving?" She asked.

"Saturday." He answered.

"Do you want to invite him over for take-away Saturday evening?" She asked politely.

"Yes, please." John answered. "I know you'll like him. He's bloody brilliant."

"Yes, well." She said firmly. "Brilliant is all well and good, but I think I'd prefer devoted instead."

**0000000000000000000**

**I know it's annoying having Mrs. Watson and Aunt Debbie uncomfortable about John's relationship with Sherlock but I can't imagine them reacting any other way after what happened the year before. I hope you forgive me.**


	25. Chapter 25

"Come on." Sherlock scoffed at the film. "It's obvious that Verbal is really Keyser Soze. This movie is completely predictable."

"Sherlock." John sighed. "You could at least wait until the opening credits are over before blurting out the ending. Debbie's never seen it before."

"Oh." Sherlock said flushing a bit. "Sorry. Was it not obvious to everyone?"

"It's fine." Debbie said a bit tightly. "I have to get up early for work tomorrow anyway. Sherlock, it was nice to meet you."

"You as well." Sherlock answered.

They watched her switch on the coffee pot before padding back to her bedroom. The minute she was out of eyesight John turned a raised eyebrow on his boyfriend.

"What?" Sherlock asked defensively. "I tried really hard."

"I know you did." John sighed. "But pointing out that Debbie was married before to a prat that drained her bank accounts and then ruining the end of a movie were a bit not good."

"She didn't dislike me." Sherlock answered.

"No." John said with a grin. "She didn't. I actually think she might have liked you."

"See." Sherlock said scooting closer. "I'm impossible to resist."

"Oh, yes." John giggled. "Impossible."

Sherlock kissed him hungrily dragging the shorter boy over to straddle his waist. The taller boy's breath hitched as John began licking and sucking on the skin just behind his left earlobe. He groaned into the kiss clutching at John's arse and pulling him closer until the shorter boy could barely breathe.

"Fuck." Sherlock panted. "An entire week. That was awful."

John hummed in agreement as he continued marking his boyfriend as his own. He gasped as Sherlock's growing hard-on brushed up against his own as the taller boy bucked lightly.

"Bedroom?" Sherlock purred seductively.

"Oh, fuck." John panted into Sherlock's shoulder. "My aunt's across the flat."

"Exactly." Sherlock said kneading John's arse. "All the way across the flat."

"Damn it." John said trying to regulate his breathing.

"What?" Sherlock asked, reaching into the shorter boys trousers to cup his arse.

"You can't stay over." John panted trying to think clearly through lust.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked leaning back to stare at John's flushed face.

"Flat rules." John answered sullenly.

"We'll go to mine then." Sherlock shrugged.

"I have a curfew." John said. "Flat rules."

"Curfew?" Sherlock asked as if the entire concept was completely new to him.

"I'll explain everything tomorrow." John sighed. "Would you please just take me to bed? And then you'll have to catch a taxi home."

Sherlock growled in frustration but motioned for John to lead on as they quickly made their way to his room. They fell into bed and took their time claiming each other's skin once more.

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"You could come, Sherlock." John said rolling his eyes.

"Football matches are incredibly dull." Sherlock whined.

"Exactly why I didn't invite you in the first place." John answered. "Your brother got me a pair of tickets for the holiday and I didn't think you'd want to go. So, I invited Lestrade up. Work on your experiments. It will only be a few hours."

"So why in bloody hell am I standing at the train depot at seven in the morning?" Sherlock whined.

"Hold on there, sunshine." John said nudging his grumpy boyfriend lightly. "You were the one who was determined to come with me this morning."

"I hadn't seen you all week." He grumbled.

"Because you were following some case in the paper." John answered. "And chasing after the Yarders. I was free all week."

"I couldn't just let them arrest the wrong person, John." Sherlock scoffed.

"I know." John said kissing him firmly on the lips; smiling into it as Sherlock wrapped his arms around the shorter boy and pulled him close.

"Bloody hell, don't you two ever give it a rest." Lestrade grumbled from behind them.

They broke apart and John pulled Lestrade into a hug before they hurried to a taxi. They stopped for breakfast at a little joint near the fields and John went to go place their order. The two boys sat staring out the window as they waited for John. Not surprisingly, they had very little in common except for John of course. They'd only met a few times over the past few months. Mostly in passing when Lestrade came to visit John.

"So, Sherlock." Lestrade began awkwardly. "How are things?"

"Fine." Sherlock answered. "And you?"

"Just fine." Lestrade answered. "Excited about the match. John said you're not coming?"

"No." Sherlock replied. "I really don't have any interest in it."

"Oh, right." Lestrade answered.

"You've known John a long time." Sherlock said out of the blue.

"Yeah," Lestrade answered. "He's my best mate."

"What was his father like?" Sherlock asked.

Lestrade leaned back in his chair and stared at the genius. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm just gathering facts." Sherlock shrugged. "John doesn't talk about him and I want to know."

"Take it from me, mate." Lestrade said. "Don't ask. John doesn't like to talk about it and I'm certainly not going to indulge your curiosity if he hasn't shared it with you."

"You won't tell me anything?" Sherlock huffed.

"Let's just say that my father picked him up enough from the bars for me to know that he was a mean drunk who wasn't particularly loving." Lestrade said quietly. "John tried hard to get that complete jackass to care about him, but it never took and John never stopped trying."

"Oh." Sherlock said filing this information away in his head.

"By the way," Lestrade said firmly. "I'm sure you've heard this from everyone but if you put him through what you did last year…"

"I won't." Sherlock cut him off firmly.

The conversation ended abruptly as John returned with their food. They tucked in and ate quickly. John and Lestrade left for the match and Sherlock returned back to his brother's house. The match was anticlimactic but the boys had a good time. They were filing out of the stadium when John asked about Lestrade's plans after graduation.

"I'm thinking of joining the police academy." Lestrade shrugged.

"And be a police officer?" John asked.

"Yeah," Lestrade answered. "But more likely a detective, I want to move to London and work here."

"That's brilliant," John answered.

"What about you?" Lestrade asked.

"University, hopefully." John shrugged. "I kinda want to be a doctor."

"Shit, John." Lestrade laughed. "You'll be a brilliant doctor."

"I hope so." John replied.

"And what about Sherlock?" Lestrade asked curiously.

"He'll probably go to University." John shrugged. "He's got the brain for it. But mostly he just wants to solve puzzles all day. He spends most of his free time experimenting and reading the crime section of the paper."

"And things are going well?" Lestrade asked hesitantly.

"Did my mum put you up to that question?" John said punching him lightly in the shoulder.

"She's still not fond of him, then?" Lestrade asked.

"Not really." John said. "Something about motherly instincts and first impressions."

"Well, you can't really blame her." He answered.

"I know." John replied. "But things are great. Brilliant, even."

"Well, I'm glad for you then." He said.

"Thanks." John smiled. "Want to grab some supper?"

"Yeah," Lestrade answered. "I'm starved."

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John saw Lestrade off before catching the Tube to Sherlock's house. It was only six o'clock and his curfew was one in the morning and he wanted to spend time with his boyfriend. It had been a pretty quiet week without Sherlock around but John couldn't really be all that upset about it. The cases made Sherlock so happy. Solving them was like a special kind of adrenaline rush for the genius. He waited on the steps after ringing the bell and was greeted by Mycroft.

"Hello, John." Mycroft said happily. "How was the match?"

"Brilliant." John answered. "Thanks again for the tickets. The seats were amazing."

"I'm glad you liked them." The taller man answered. "Sherlock's upstairs. I would recommend ordering in for dinner. We have nothing in the fridge currently."

"Are you heading out?" John asked taking in the waistcoat and umbrella.

"State dinner." Mycroft answered.

"Have fun." John said.

"They are hardly ever fun." Mycroft said. "But they are incredibly informative. You can learn the most fascinating things about a person by the way they hold their fork."

"I'll keep that in mind." John smiled.

"See that you do." Mycroft smiled back. "Goodbye, John."

"Goodbye." He answered.

He ran quickly up the stairs and walked into his boyfriend's hazard area of a bedroom. Mycroft had actually set aside a whole other room in the house for Sherlock's experiments but the genius had declared that he much preferred his work close by and had flatly refused to use it. So, his bedroom was full of detritus, mold, a variety of knives, an extensive chemistry set, and, of course, the skull. John grinned as he caught Sherlock leaned over his chemistry set making some incoherent scratches in a notebook while wearing safety goggles.

"Did you enjoy your lasagna?" Sherlock asked barely glancing up.

"Go on," John said. "I know you want to explain exactly how you knew that."

"Elementary, John." Sherlock answered. "Let me finish adding this catalyst. Do you mind waiting in the hall?"

"No problem." John replied. "I'll just be watching telly."

"Thank you." Sherlock said waving him away.

John wandered down the hallway to the living area and plopped down on the sofa grabbing the remote. Sherlock had explained a few months ago that John's presence was incredibly distracting when he was trying to work. At first, John had been a bit offended, but after explaining why exactly he was having trouble focusing, the blond was more flattered than anything else. He drifted off to sleep as he waited for his genius to finish working. He was roused later by Sherlock pressing a few light kisses against his temple. He reached out and pulled the genius down on top of him. They snogged lazily for several minutes before they settled facing each other on the sofa and John smiled as Sherlock explained the particulars of the case from the past week. They whispered back and forth like the information was a precious secret just for the two of them. Sherlock's eyes blazed with excitement as he told John about his deductions and conclusions. He mocked the Yarders and made John giggle as he did impressions.

"It's marvelous, John." Sherlock whispered. "I've never felt more engaged in a puzzle before than when I'm picking apart the motivations and facts of a case. It's like my brain is running a thousand miles an hour and everything is crystal clear."

"I'm glad." John whispered back, running his hand through Sherlock's unruly curls. "I'm so glad."

"I hope you know…" Sherlock said hesitantly. "I just get so focused sometimes…I'm not forgetting about you…"

"Sherlock," John said with a grin. "It's fine. It's all fine. I'm glad you found something that you love doing."

"I do." Sherlock said. "I love it."

John placed a light kiss on the corner of Sherlock mouth before answering, "Then don't stop."

Sherlock dragged him back for a heated kiss before shifting John to lie on his back as the taller boy slithered down and ran a hand roughly over John's slowing rising hard-on.

"Oh, god." John breathed. Sherlock smirked in reply and took care of John's trousers and pants quickly. John's hips jerked as Sherlock licked a wet line up his cock. Sherlock licked and sucked over and over causing John to break out in a hot sweat and begin writhing against the couch with abandon. He was getting so close. He could feel the heat in his gut as Sherlock took him in deep and swirled that delicious tongue against his slit. He was moaning in pleasure as Sherlock licked one more time before taking him in hand pumping firmly and crawling up to whisper in John's ear.

"You have to know, John." He purred. "That I love you. I love you so much."

John felt his mind turn white as his hips jerked and he came in four hard pulses. John's hands were shaking when he pulled his boyfriend close and kissed him passionately. "I love you too. Fuck, Sherlock. I love you."

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	26. Chapter 26

"Oh, Jim." Mycroft said. "You look a bit put out. Are you not having a good day?"

"I swear that when I get out of here, I am going to make it my mission to ruin both you and your brother." Jim growled.

"Good luck, Jim." Mycroft said smugly. "Greater and smarter men than you have tried and failed."

"You can't just keep me here." Jim practically shouted.

"Watch me." Mycroft said looking around the small room. "I haven't the faintest clue as to why you don't like it here. You've got everything you could possibly want."

"I've been in this room for six months!" Jim raged. "With nothing to do except avoid answering your inane questions!"

"You could always answer those questions." Mycroft shrugged. "We might even be willing to get you a television if you answer them."

"What do you want to know?" Moriarty slumped against the wall.

"Tell me how far your little organization reaches." Mycroft said. "I know you have your dirty little fingers in more than just drugs. Tell me what else you have going on."

"Why?" Jim growled.

"Because your organization is self-sufficient." Mycroft answered. "It functions successfully on its own even without you present. I want it completely disassembled."

"It's meant to be self-sustaining." Jim answered. "That's the genius of it. There's no one piece that if removed with destroy the web."

"So, tell me how to destroy it." Mycroft demanded.

"Why?" Jim giggled. "Is it becoming annoying?"

"Tell me and I will get you a television." Mycroft cajoled.

"No deal." Jim shrugged. "I like making you sweat."

Mycroft grimaced before walking out of the room. He quickly made his way back to his home feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders. Moriarty, the boy, was little more than a creep. But his organization, Mycroft had to admit, was a finely run machine. It was elegant which made Mycroft grate his teeth in annoyance. If they had any hope of containing the bricks of cocaine being shipped into London on a weekly basis, they had to cut the head of the beast.

He doubted Sherlock was even aware of how far Moriarty's reach extended to. Mycroft had done extensive research into Jim Moriarty after Sherlock was sent to the rehab facility. He could almost kick himself for letting him go that first time. If he'd known then what he knew now, he'd have arrested Moriarty over a year ago. It seemed Moriarty had one weakness and if Mycroft had done his job properly, he could have exploited it then. It was unfortunate that that weakness was his brother. Moriarty had been obsessed with power. Obsessed with being smarter than anyone else and the only person who had ever come close to being intelligent enough and stupid enough to challenge that superiority was his brother. Sherlock had walked right into that twisted little game with Jim. He gave Moriarty everything he wanted by submitting to him sexually and being dependent on him for drugs. Moriarty would have ripped his brother apart bit by bit if John hadn't come along and traipsed all over their little game.

He strode into the kitchen feeling a stress headache pounding between his temples viciously. He pulled out his hidden stash of licorice and slumped against the table letting his mind flip through a variety of solutions to his problem. If he couldn't get to the organization through Jim, he'd have to start all over again. The frustrating thing was that he had the resources, the man power, the intelligence. He just didn't have a starting point.

He sent off a flurry of texts to his subordinates before heading upstairs to bed swearing vehemently to hire an assistant tomorrow. He didn't have time to be constantly sending texts back and forth. He found it tedious.

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His phone pinged several hours later, but he was awake instantly. He glanced at the message and felt his blood run cold.

_Security Code Yellow_

He was out of bed quickly and racing for his closet. He threw on a suit, grabbed his umbrella, and hopped quickly into the car already waiting outside his house. The driver sped toward their destination and he jumped out the minute the car jerked to a halt. He strode past the agents and officers walking quickly down to the supposedly secure cell. He glanced from corner to corner taking in all of the relevant data and piecing together a picture of what had transpired. He gestured toward one of the MI6 agents to give him an analysis.

"Your name." Mycroft said quickly.

"Patricia, sir." She said deftly before continuing on. "One agent, Samuel Moran, was on duty when the sensors and alarms went off. Agents found both James Moriarty and Samuel Moran missing and all three security measures disassembled expertly. Experts have since completed a background check on Samuel Moran and found his identity falsified. He was transferred to this detail just a week ago but had been working in a separate department for the past six months. It is assumed that he aided James Moriarty in his escape. CCTV camera footage is being gathered and analyzed now, sir."

"I want all relevant footage relayed to me remotely." Mycroft said firmly. "I need a security detail in place for Sherlock Holmes, Anna Holmes, and John Watson. Level three should be sufficient."

"Yes, sir." She said making a note quickly in her Blackberry.

"Was any note or message left in the room?" Mycroft asked. "Moriarty seems the type to gloat."

"Only this, sir." She said holding out a piece of paper. "It's been copied. The original document is being analyzed."

He grabbed the paper and read over it letting a frown settle over his features.

_Now I get to watch you squirm._

Mycroft turned away and made to exit the room before a thought struck him causing him to turn back to the agent. "Is that your real name?"

She grinned wryly and shook her head. "No, sir."

"How would you like a promotion?" He asked, smiling.

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"I got in!" John shouted. "Debbie, I got in!"

His aunt ran into the room to see what he was shouting about and shrieked as he thrust the acceptance letter into her hands.

"John!" She said happily. "This is so exciting! Oxford! I'm so proud of you!"

"Thanks!" He said. "I better call Mum."

He left her a message on her voicemail before turning back to his aunt and drinking in the proud smile on her features. She pulled him into a hug and they giggled helplessly for about ten minutes.

"Grab your coat!" She said happily. "We're going to celebrate."

"Let me call Sherlock." John said. "See if he wants to come."

She nodded before heading to her bedroom to put some shoes on. He dialed the number quickly and sighed impatiently as it rang several times before switching over to voicemail.

"Answer your phone, you git." John giggled. "I got in! I got in to Oxford! Call me back so you can come celebrate with me and Debbie."

He hung up and called Molly as well. It seemed no one wanted to talk to him today because she didn't pick up either. He left a voicemail for her and Lestrade after that. They left the flat and went out to dinner at a little Italian place down the road. They were halfway through their dinner when his phone chimed. He glanced down to read the text from Sherlock feeling a grin settle across his features.

_Knew you would. We'll celebrate properly tonight. My place? 8:30p? SH_

He replied quickly with an affirmation returning to enjoy his dinner with Debbie. They indulged in a delicious apple crumble with freshly whipped cream. They talked about his plans for the upcoming summer and everything that he would need prior to starting classes. It was close to 8:30p when they were done so Debbie got him a cab to get to Sherlock's. She hugged him before he climbed in and said how proud she was of him again before gesturing for him to get going. He grabbed for his ringing phone assuming it was his Mum.

"Hello." He said happily. There was no answer. "Hello?"

He glanced down at the caller ID to see the words _Blocked Number_ before bringing it back up to his ear and trying again. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

He shrugged and hung up. He put the call out of his mind as the cab pulled up to Mycroft's house and he hopped out. He let himself in (Mycroft had insisted that he not bother with ringing the doorbell) and froze at the yelling voices drifting out of Mycroft's office.

"Did you honestly think I wouldn't notice?" Sherlock shouted.

"It doesn't matter if you noticed or not," Mycroft said firmly. "The detail isn't going to go away."

"They will go away, Mycroft." Sherlock answered angrily. "But that's not the point of contention here. Why did you suddenly put me on a security detail?"

"That's above your pay grade." Mycroft said haughtily. "All you need to know is that it's for your own good."

"My own good?" Sherlock shouted. "I don't need protection from your petty political enemies."

"They're not _my _enemies." Mycroft shot back.

There were no sounds for several seconds and John shifted in the entryway unsure of what to do.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said icily. "What did you do?"

John never did hear the answer to Sherlock's question because the doorbell went just seconds after. He flinched at the noise and tried to melt against the wall as both Holmes brothers walked out into the hall and saw him standing there. Mycroft recovered first moving past John to answer the door but the looks that both men gave him made his skin crawl with apprehension. The elder Holmes led a petite woman back into his office and shut the door firmly breaking the trance over the younger men. Sherlock took three giant steps forward drawing John close and kissing him deeply pushing him against the wall. He grabbed at John clinging to him desperately claiming him with his tongue and teeth. The shorter boy drew back a bit to catch his breath and study the taller boy with concern.

"What's going on, Sherlock?" He asked apprehensively.

"Nothing." Sherlock whispered. "Just family stuff. Come with me. We're supposed to be celebrating."

He let Sherlock lead him upstairs to his bedroom glancing at the newest experiments on his boyfriend's worktable as the taller boy excused himself for a moment. Sherlock returned several minutes later looking a bit more composed but still terribly disconcerted.

"Are you alright?" John said drawing close and running his hand through those dark curls that he loved so much.

"I'm fine." Sherlock answered leaning into the touch. "Tell me about your day."

They curled up together on Sherlock's bed and caught up on the past few days. When they kissed, it felt desperate and needy. John felt the anxiety in Sherlock and tried to reassure him as best he could meeting Sherlock's demands giving more and more to try to ease the taller boy's discomfort but by the end, they were both unsure and nervous.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock whispered into the shorter boy's shoulder. "This was supposed to be a celebration."

"Are you sure that you don't want to tell me what's going on?" John asked for the third time. "Maybe I could help."

"No." Sherlock huffed out. "Mycroft and I will take care of this."

"Okay." John said hesitantly.

"I love you." Sherlock said firmly.

"I love you too." John replied feeling a strange weight settle in his stomach.

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Sherlock kissed John once more before watching him hail a cab and head back to his aunt's flat. He felt something dark skitter across his chest to clamp firmly around his heart as the lights of the cab retreated down the street. He turned quickly and stalked towards his brother's study. He didn't bother knocking, interrupting Mycroft and his new assistant discussing a state dinner being held next month.

"Tell me everything." Sherlock said angrily.

He listened silently as his brother laid out the events of the past three days. Of Jim's arrest six months ago and his extensive criminal network that Mycroft had been attempting to disassemble over the past year and a half. Of his recruitment of Samuel Moran, his escape, and the message left at the scene.

"You think he'll come after me?" Sherlock asked after digesting all of the facts.

"I think you're his weakness." Mycroft said firmly. "I don't think he'll have a choice."

"What about John?" Sherlock asked.

"It's a possibility, but unlikely." Mycroft answered. "He's determined to best you, Sherlock. To lord over you. A direct approach will give him more chance of that."

"So what's the plan?" Sherlock replied.

"That's above your pay grade." Mycroft answered.

"I've been assisting in your little cases for months now." Sherlock said firmly. "I'm more than capable of assisting in this matter, in fact I insist on it. I'm the best person for the job considering the hold I have over Jim already. You need me, Mycroft. And you know it."

"I can't give you a timeline for when this mission will wrap up." Mycroft answered. "It could take weeks, months."

"I don't care." Sherlock said firmly.

"And what about John?" Mycroft asked quietly.

"I'm doing this for John." Sherlock said vehemently. "Once Jim is out of the way for good, then he'll be safe."

"Will you tell him?" Mycroft said.

Sherlock stared at the ground for several minutes before meeting his older brother's gaze steadily. "No, this isn't a burden he should have to carry. This is my problem. I'll solve it myself."

**000000000000000**

**JIM! Seriously though, don't hate me.**


	27. Chapter 27

"John Hamish Watson. Academic Honors." The vice principle announced, as John crossed the stage to receive his diploma. He felt a bit like a prat but he couldn't care too much. He was graduating today and attending Oxford in the fall as a pre-med major. He looked out at the crowd to see his Mum, sister, and aunt waving proudly. He moved his tassel and waved back. He walked back to his seat and reached into his pocket for his cell phone looking at the screen. He clicked on the text Sherlock had sent and felt a mixed pang of affection and disappointment settle in his heart.

_Sorry I couldn't be there. Working on something for Mycroft. Congrats. Love you. SH_

He sighed and leaned back into his chair. He wasn't surprised that Sherlock hadn't been able to come. He'd told him last week that he was working on something incredibly important for his brother and would be pretty busy for the next few weeks. His boyfriend had been acting strangely for the past month or so. He could almost date it from the day he'd gotten his acceptance letter and had found the brothers arguing. Sherlock had become consumed by some case for Mycroft and had been distant and preoccupied. When they did spend time together, it was mostly just Sherlock dragging him to bed so that he could sleep curled up against John. He was trying to be understanding and supportive but the dark circles under Sherlock's eyes were becoming more and more pronounced as the weeks dragged on. Sherlock was eating less and becoming gaunt and skeletal. John tried his best to get him to eat more when they were together but Sherlock was almost impossible to convince these days.

He put the troubling thoughts out of his mind as the last of his classmates walked across the stage and claps erupted from behind him. He exited the gymnasium quickly and was pulled into several hugs between his family members. They took pictures and he found Molly to congratulate her before his family pulled him out of the building back to Debbie's flat for cake and presents. Molly was actually attending Oxford as well so it wasn't like he wouldn't be seeing her again. He was opening the card from his mum when a check fell out. He grabbed it and his eyes bugged out as he saw the amount.

"Mum…" He began to protest but she cut him off.

"That money is yours, John." She said firmly. "That's all the money that you've been giving me over the years to help with bills. I decided a long time ago that I couldn't take your money, so I put it in a savings account for you. That's all of it."

"Mum…" He said again feeling his throat constrict with emotion. He wrapped his arms around her tightly trying to convey his appreciation through the embrace. She must have understood because when they broke apart she was wiping away tears.

"Alright, squirt." Harry said happily. "Here's what Clara and I got for you."

He opened the present and raised an eyebrow at the engraved flask. "Really, Harry?"

"You'll need it." She said firmly.

"Thanks, I guess." He said shaking his head lightly.

They were just cutting into the cake when the doorbell went and Harry went to answer it. She came back quickly and rolled her eyes as Sherlock followed her into the flat. John ignored her and met his boyfriend in the hall letting Sherlock pull him into a quick kiss. John took in Sherlock's appearance and felt his breath hitch painfully at the exhaustion on his boyfriend's face. The taller boy perceived John's worry and tried to smile his reassurance. He kissed John lightly one more time before handing him a gift then dragging himself off to John's bedroom to sleep.

"Is he alright?" His mum asked anxiously.

"He's just busy helping his brother." John assured them.

"He didn't even come to your graduation." Harry accused in a heated whisper.

"Shove off, Harry." John said firmly. "I really don't need any relationship advice from you. How's Clara by the way?"

"Fuck off." Harry huffed darkly before stomping off.

"John." His Mum scolded lightly. "That was unnecessary."

"Well," He said. "She doesn't have any right to comment on my relationship."

"She's just being protective." His Mum said. "She cares about you and doesn't want to see you hurt."

The room fell into an awkward silence and the party broke up quickly after that as everyone went to get ready for bed. Harry and Mum were sharing the other guest room. He walked quickly back to his room still carrying the gift that Sherlock had given him earlier. He opened the door quietly and stripped down to his pants and a t-shirt before crouching next to his sleeping boyfriend and running a hand through his hair. Sherlock roused slightly at the touch and opened one bleary eye to stare at him.

"Have you opened your present?" Sherlock said roughly.

"Not yet." John said, moving to sit with his back to the headboard.

"Well, go on then." Sherlock said rolling onto his back to get a better look at the boy he loved.

"One sec." John said before reaching under the bed to pull out a small present and handing it to Sherlock.

"You didn't really get a graduation." John shrugged after taking in the confused expression on the taller boy's face. "I thought you deserved a gift though."

Sherlock shifted into a sitting position and faced John. "On the count of three then?"

"Three." John whispered and they both ripped at the badly wrapped presents. John pulled out a leather book and flipped it open letting his breath hitch a little. It was a picture book full of images of him and Sherlock. All of them were candid. If John didn't know better, he'd say they were all taken from CCTV footage, but that was impossible surely. Pictures of them laughing, holding hands, kissing, arguing lightly, dozing against one another. John felt a lump form in his throat. It was wonderful. He glanced up and frowned at the pained expression on Sherlock's face.

"Sherlock?" John asked worried. "What's wrong? Do you not like it?"

"It's a key." Sherlock said quietly.

"Yeah," John flushed. "Figurative, of course. I don't actually have an apartment yet, but I thought…I'd give you a copy of my key when I do. That way you can come anytime you want."

"John…" Sherlock said brokenly.

"I'm sorry." He felt his face burning. "It's a stupid idea…"

John didn't get to finish his thought because Sherlock was pulling him close and kissing him feverishly. John felt something twist painfully in his chest at this onslaught of frenzied kisses and caresses. This wasn't right. Something was wrong.

"Sherlock." He said firmly pulling away. "What's going on?"

"I love you, John." Sherlock said resting their foreheads together. "You're everything. You know that, right?"

"Yes." John answered. "I know. But that doesn't actually explain what's gotten in to you. Is it about the work you're doing for Mycroft?"

"Sort of." Sherlock sighed. "I'm doing this for us, John."

"Doing what?" John asked feeling his anxiety level jump.

"It should only be for a few months." Sherlock rushed. "No more than four or five. But this case is incredibly important and I have to go."

"Five months?" John asked dazedly. "You're going away for a case?"

"We'll talk every day." Sherlock continued. "IM, phone calls, texts, whatever you want, but I _have_ to go."

John studied his suffering boyfriend silently before pulling him into a gentle kiss. "It's that important?"

"Yes." Sherlock sighed.

"I'll miss you, you insufferable git." Attempting to force a smile on his boyfriend's tortured features.

He felt all of the tension drain out of the taller boy and he shifted so that Sherlock was lying curled tightly around him with that head of curls tucked under his chin.

"I love you, John." Sherlock said quietly.

"I love you too." John answered. "When do you leave?"

"Next week." Sherlock whispered.

"Alright." John said. "The picture book?"

"So you won't forget about me." Sherlock answered like it was the most logical thing in the world.

"I don't think that's even possible." John said quietly.

"Even so." Sherlock said firmly.

They both drifted off to sleep soon after that. John woke as the early morning light was filtering in his window and felt his heart swell at the feel of Sherlock still tucked impossibly close to him breathing deeply in soothing sleep.

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_JW: Call your mother. She's frantic._

_SH: I'm much too busy right now._

_JW: CALL YOUR MOTHER. If you have time to text me twenty times a day, you can call the woman who spent twenty-seven hours in labor shoving your arse into the world. _

_SH: John…_

_JW: That's right. She told me. While she was crying into the phone. Call her._

_SH: Fine._

_JW: Thank you._

_SH: How are classes?_

_JW: A lot_ _less terrifying than I had envisioned. There's a ton of papers, but it's interesting._

_SH: Sounds dull._

_JW: I'm much too busy to be dull. What about you?_

_SH: I spent an entire week in the basement of a bordello._

_JW: Why?_

_SH: Do you really want to know?_

_JW: Ya know what. No. I really don't._

_SH: Just as well. I couldn't tell you anyway._

_JW: Your brother's incredibly obsessed with that whole "need to know" philosophy._

_SH: He's completely insufferable. _

_JW: He's not so bad. He showed up last week and took me out for a pint._

_SH: I'm going to kill him._

_JW: …Why?..._

_SH: Because he gets to see you and I don't._

_JW: How much longer? It's been four months already._

_SH: I know. I'm sorry. Things are taking a bit longer than I had anticipated._

_JW: I'm a fucking saint, you know that right?_

_SH: Completely angelic…except when you're moaning as I suck you off…_

_JW: NO! I'm not doing this right now. I'm in the library, for fuck' sake._

_SH: Come on, John. It's like a challenge. You love a challenge._

_JW: Fuck off, you lusty giraffe. What do you want for Christmas?_

_SH: You in my bed, naked. Touching yourself as I watch._

_JW: I hate you. If you don't stop, I'm signing off. I'm not walking back to my apartment with a hard-on. Again._

_SH: Spoilsport._

_JW: So, tell me. What tricks have you taught yourself today?_

_SH: I'm actually a fantastic grifter. _

_JW: A what?_

_SH: A grifter. A thief who steals things by manipulating their mark. It's easy once you turn their insecurities against them._

_JW: Mycroft has created a monster._

_SH: A highly proficient one. At least give credit where it's due._

_JW: I miss you._

_SH: Same here._

_JW: Don't get me wrong, you're incredibly brilliant, but why exactly did Mycroft need you to do this. Surely he has hundreds of other people at his disposal. _

_SH: The situation demanded it. It was the most logical solution._

_JW: Hang logic, I'm incredibly lonely and horny as fuck without you here._

_SH: I knew it._

_JW: Of course you knew it. What I want is for you to fix it._

_SH: The minute this entire mess is cleaned up, we'll spend an entire month in bed. Just you, me, and my chemistry set._

_JW: …Seriously, I'm a fucking saint._

_SH: Fuck, I have to go. The pizza's done and I still have to break into the safe before the poetry reading wraps up._

_JW: You make no sense._

_SH: I love you._

_JW: I love you. Be careful._

_SH: Always._

_SH signed out._


	28. Chapter 28

"I think I should apply to Oxford when this is over with." Sherlock said over the line late one November evening.

"Really?" John yawned. Sherlock knew that John had to get up for an early class in the morning but he couldn't be bothered to care. He just wanted to listen to John a bit longer.

"Yes." Sherlock answered. "I believe that I would be taken much more seriously if I spend a ridiculous amount of money securing a piece of paper for myself."

"You're cynical." John giggled.

"And you're wonderful." Sherlock said in a fit of emotion. Gods, this was awful. He hated being away from John. He knew why it was necessary but the longer he spent away, the more he was questioning the logic of this decision. Sure, they'd been able to distract Jim long enough to dismantle a major section of the criminal web in Rome, but it was tedious work. Keeping Jim's interest in his movements in Norway while Mycroft's people worked at a glacial pace in Rome had just about drove him to madness.

"Are you alright?" John asked curiously.

"No." Sherlock huffed. "You're not here."

"You're not even allowed to tell me where here is." John answered. "Don't you get vacation time?"

"This job is too important." Sherlock sighed.

"Right." John said. "Queen and country?"

"Bugger that." Sherlock grumbled. He was developing a migraine. These past months had been awful and it didn't look to be improving any time soon.

"Sherlock." John said seductively. "I seemed to have accidentally spilled a copious amount of lubricant on my very hard, erect cock."

"Are you trying to proposition phone sex?" Sherlock said feeling his entire body twinge with desire.

"Just making conversation." John answered innocently. "Any suggestions on what to do with the pre-come leaking out of my erection as I stroke myself?"

"Oh," Sherlock said intelligently. He quickly ripped his pants down past his knees and took his growing erection in hand.

"I wish you were here." John whispered over the line.

"Tell me…" Sherlock whimpered. "Tell me what you'd do."

"I want you inside me so badly." John moaned over the line. "I want to run my tongue over your nipple and suck deeply while I stroke your cock."

Sherlock's breathing seemed to stutter in his chest as his hand sped up quickly. "Go on, John."

"I'd take you into my mouth and swirl my tongue lightly over your slit massaging your balls until you were gasping beneath me." John continued. "Fuck Sherlock, I'm so hard right now."

"You've no idea." Sherlock gasped. "What else?"

"I'd kneel in front of you on the bed and spread my legs wide so you could finger fuck me." John breathed raggedly. "Until I was so open and needy that I was crying out to have you inside me. Only you. Forever you."

Sherlock felt his release on the verge of overwhelming him as he pumped harder feeling his hips buck involuntarily against the scratchy hotel sheets.

"I'd beg to have you inside me, Sherlock." John continued. "You'd slide into me and I would be so hot. So tight. I'd moan your name as I pushed back against you needing more of you, all of you inside me. And just that Sherlock. The feel of you pounding into me, owning me, would send me over the edge. I'd shout your name as I came and my entire body would constrict around you deliciously. Holding you tight inside me as I keened your name."

"Oh, fuck…John…_oh John!_" Sherlock groaned as his orgasm swept through his body sending pulse after pulse of come over his belly and coating his hand. They were both breathing heavily over the line for several seconds before either of them recovered.

"I need you so badly." Sherlock said brokenly.

"I'm right here." John said simply. "Do what you have to do and I'll be right here when you come back. Just don't be too long about it, huh?"

"I swear John, as soon as I can, I'll be right there." Sherlock murmured. "It's the only place I've ever wanted to be. With you."

"I know the feeling." John sighed and yawned again.

"You have class in the morning." Sherlock said quietly.

"Yeah." John said hesitantly. "Text tomorrow?"

"Of course." Sherlock answered.

"I love you." John said reverently.

"I love you too." Sherlock answered.

00000000000000000000

"Sherlock." Mycroft sighed over the phone. "You have to check in regularly. I have to know where you are at all times."

I don't need a babysitter, Mycroft." Sherlock growled. "I'm eighteen."

"You know how this whole thing is upsetting Mummy." Mycroft scolded. "The only way that she would even agree to this scheme of yours was if we were in constant contact."

"It's not a scheme, Mycroft." Sherlock grumbled. "It's a highly intelligent, logical, strategic maneuver."

"Call it what you will." Mycroft said blandly. "It still has you dashing about Europe on your own manipulating the ego of a madman."

"We're getting results!" Sherlock said passionately. "After Switzerland, he barely has a leg to stand on."

"Which is exactly why he will now be getting desperate." Mycroft cut in. "You know this. He's going to stop acting logically and start acting impulsively. Which, while stupid, is a lot less predictable."

"Moran is here, Mycroft." Sherlock answered. "I know it. We'll take care of him here and Jim will be child's play after that."

"Where is Jim now?" Mycroft asked. "I thought they were in Switzerland together?"

"He bought a ticket to Oslo the day after the arrests were made." Sherlock answered.

"We don't have any footage showing him entering Norway." Mycroft said feeling something niggling at the back of his brain.

"He's there." Sherlock said confidently. "That's his second to last stronghold after London."

"Right." Mycroft answered. "Call me after you get Moran and we'll discuss your next assignment then."

"Will do." Sherlock said.

00000000000000000000000

John answered his phone and frowned as the familiar lack of noise greeted him. There was definitely something wrong with this phone. He was getting these non-calls at least twice a day now. It was bloody annoying. He pocketed his phone again before sliding into the booth. He ordered water and waited impatiently watching the door like a hawk. He sighed as his phone went again and expected static not even bothering to look at the caller ID.

"Hello?" He huffed.

"Is everything alright, John?" Mycroft's posh voice asked.

"Oh, Mycroft." He said thanking the nearest deity that the man wasn't here to see his embarrassed blush. "Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

"The phone you have has caller ID." Mycroft answered.

"Right." John said. "Yeah. I knew that."

"How are classes?" Mycroft asked blandly.

"Fine." John said confused. Mycroft rarely ever called him and if he did, it was to ask a list of very specific, information questions. He wasn't really one for small talk. At that realization, John's heart practically leapt out of his chest as he asked, "Is Sherlock alright?"

"Yes." Mycroft answered simply. "I didn't mean to alarm you. He's quite fine."

"Good." John sighed. "That's good. Do you know when he'll be back? It's been seven months already."

"I am sorry, John." Mycroft replied. "It is taking quite a bit longer than we had anticipated. It shouldn't be more than another three months."

John felt his insides curdle. Another three months sounded like a death sentence. He began to slip out of the booth and head for the door. He'd just have to text Molly and apologize. He didn't really want to study the endocrine system right now. He was just exiting the building when someone brushed against him causing him to drop his phone. He grabbed at it quickly and apologized profusely to Mycroft.

"It's quite alright." Mycroft said.

"Is there something particular you wanted?" John asked curiously.

"Just checking in." Mycroft answered.

"Okay." John said. "Well, I hope you have a good day."

"You as well." He replied. "Goodbye John."

"Bye." John said.

John walked back to his apartment in an extremely bad mood. It was lucky his roommate was out for weekend. He had no desire to interact with anyone else tonight. Besides, there was really only one person he wanted to spend time with. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and trudged through the icy winds. He caught the main door just as someone was leaving which was great because then he didn't have to hassle with the three different bloody keys his apartment building required. Slipping into his flat, he quickly shed his coat and made his way to the bathroom. Deciding to spend his evening with a quick shower, a dose of melatonin, and an early bedtime, he stripped in his room before entering the shower. He used up far too much hot water with quite possibly the most depressing wank of his entire life and exited feeling even more frustrated and tired. He checked his phone and felt his heart lift a little at the text on the screen.

_I'm in a terrible mood._

_SH_

_What happened?_

_JW_

_Sunburn. _

_SH_

_Did you wear sunblock?_

_JW_

_I got distracted._

_SH_

_Did you at least buy aloe vera for the burn?_

_JW  
><em>

_Where would one go to get that?  
>SH<br>_

_Any convenience store anywhere in the world._

_JW  
><em>

_Thank you, John. Your help has been invaluable._

_SH  
><em>

_You're an idiot._

_JW  
><em>

_The evidence does not support your statement._

_SH  
><em>

_Look in the mirror and try to text me that again._

_JW  
><em>

_How's your day?_

_SH_

_Yeah, that's what I thought._

_JW_

_My day is less than fine. Talked to your brother._

_JW  
><em>

_What did he bug you about today?  
>SH<br>_

_Said it was going to be at least another three months._

_JW_

_I am sorry, John._

_SH  
><em>

_Don't be sorry. Just get your arse home._

_JW  
><em>

_I know. This is awful._

_SH_

_What would you study at Oxford?_

_JW  
><em>

_You. All the time._

_SH_

_Haha. Seriously, though. Didn't your tutors teach you everything anyway?_

_JW  
><em>

_I'd probably go for Chemistry. Seems the most logical choice._

_SH_

_Where would you stay? In the dorms?_

_JW  
><em>

_Are you being deliberately thick or are you fishing for something?_

_SH_

_Fishing for something._

_JW  
><em>

_I'd live with you. No question._

_SH_

_Good answer._

_JW  
><em>

_I am a genius, John._

_SH  
><em>

_I'm off to bed. Had a crap day._

_JW  
><em>

_Call tomorrow?_

_SH_

_Sounds great. Love you, you arse._

_JW  
><em>

_Love you too._

_SH_

John plugged his phone in before popping a few melatonin and curling up tightly into the bed. He didn't hear a quiet scuffle outside his bedroom window nor did he hear the lock to his apartment crack open and footsteps whisper against the carpet stopping mere inches from his deeply asleep form. The only thing that registered in his sleep addled head was the feeling of cold steel against his throat and a mocking, giggle at his ear.

"Hello, Johnny Boy! Did you miss me?"

**00000000000000000000**

**So, that was my attempt at phone sex. Never tried it myself, seems a bit complicated...hope it was satisfying!**

**Oh yeah! Jim's found John! AHHHHH!**


	29. Chapter 29

"Aw, Pet." Jim said pushing the barrel of the gun into John's neck. "You don't look happy to see me."

"What the hell are you doing here?" John whispered feeling panic skitter across his skin.

"I can't come visit my favorite pet?" Jim mocked with that irritatingly terrifying grin.

"I want you to leave." John said shortly.

"That's adorable." Jim giggled before ruffling John's hair with his free hand. "The crippled dog trying to be brave. Really, Johnny Boy. You're almost amusing enough to keep around."

"Leave." John said a bit more firmly.

"I said almost." Jim said ignoring John's demand. "But I'm afraid you've outlived your usefulness. Useless, crippled dogs have to be put down."

John jerked away as Jim shoved the gun harder against his neck. But Jim had his other hand clutching John's blond strands and he pulled painfully causing tears to form at the corners of his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" John whispered.

"I'm bored." Jim shrugged. "And a bit irritated. My Sherlock has been incredibly annoying these past seven months."

John felt his breath hitch as several puzzle pieces slotted into place quickly in his head. Fuck.

"You didn't know?" Jim asked with a gleeful grin. "It's pretty telling, isn't it? Even when he hates me, he still devotes more time to me than he does the pet he supposedly loves. That must make you feel awful."

"Shut up." John said trying to function through the emotions boiling in his head. Of course it was Jim. God, how had he not seen it before? He'd been so fucking stupid. No wonder he'd run off to play this game. He couldn't resist.

"Now, Pet." Jim scolded lightly. "Be nice. Or you'll have to be punished."

"You do realize that I don't give one fucking shit about playing these games with you." John said feeling anger burn like acid through his entire body. He was so fucking angry. He couldn't even see straight. "Sherlock may like playing games with you, but I don't. So either fucking try to kill me or get the fuck out."

"Oh, Johnny Boy." Jim said, his voice taking on a quiet rage of his own. "I'm not going to try. I'm going to succeed."

"Then do it." John snapped back. "Because then maybe I can finally get some peace from self-satisfied, know-it-all pricks with gigantic fucking egos."

"Don't worry." Jim said soothingly. "I will. But I'm going to have some fun first whether you like it or not."

"Fuck off." John said firmly shifting against the metal at his throat. He flinched as Jim smacked him hard across the face.

"It's really up to you." Jim said. "How you end your time on earth. Do you want it to be quick and almost painless or do you want to go out torn to shreds?"

"It makes me no difference." John said firmly.

"Bit of a death wish, then?" Jim said, that smile lighting up his features again.

"My only wish is that you'd stop talking, you incredibly tedious arse." John shot back. He knew it wasn't smart, but he couldn't be bothered to care. Everyone else in this situation was acting like a complete fucking idiot, why not him as well?

"Fine." Jim said shortly. "I'll kill you right now. Get up and face the wall. I don't want to get any blood on this suit. Westwood."

John felt his entire body protest the movement through terrified self-preservation, but his rage overrode it. He got up stiffly keeping a wary eye on the hardware at his back. He faced the wall and took several breaths trying to control the rage and panic fighting for dominance inside him. He was most likely going to die. He'd die and his mother would cry and his sister would get drunk and his aunt would be upset and Sherlock…fuck. Sherlock would be devastated. He'd be lost and alone and he'd do something stupid.

"You know." Jim said cutting into his thoughts. "I do hate getting my hands dirty, but for this. This moment. I'm more than happy to make an exception. It's going to be worth it watching your lifeless body slam to the ground as all of your faculties leave you and you piss and shit all over yourself. Then Sherlock won't want you for sure. He'll be all mine. To play with. To fuck. And then, when I get bored, and I will. I'll have him killed. Probably string up his corpse and have it tied to the gates of that ridiculous country home of his. Ya know, it might be poetic to take care of the whole family. So, John. At least I'm sparing you that. See, I am incredibly sweet when I want to be."

John let rage consume him. He'd tried to stamp it down. Tried to lock it away in his mind, but he'd officially had e-fucking-nough. There were only two things that he and his father had in common. One was anger. John's dad was at his best when he was drunk and raging and stumbling around the house with wrath. But John didn't need to drink. His anger was honed simply by existing. He'd kept it locked away, ashamed of his weakness because he knew that it made him like his father. But it was always just there. Simmering away. Waiting for a moment to lash out. John finally gave up and felt it consume his entire being with hot, caustic burning. He felt the gun pressed firmly against the back of his skull and all of his awareness seemed to pinpoint to that one spot. He let out a huffing breath and felt his body tense in anticipation.

He heard Jim shift his stance and readjust his grip on the firearm. John took one more deep breath before shifting quickly to the side and ducking under the barrel as he twisted to grab the psycho's wrist and slam it hard against the wall he was just standing against. He saw surprise across the other boy's face but didn't let it halt his movement as he caught the gun in mid-air and utilized the only other thing that he and his father had in common. It was the only thing that they ever did together. The only thing his father had ever actually taught him. And he was good. Extremely good. And at this distance, only a foot away, it took him less than a second to fix his grip, line up the shot and pull the trigger.

John froze with the gun still raised as Jim stumbled back and clutched at the red mark blooming quickly on his pristine white dress shirt. The fear and rage and pain on the other boy's face sent sick jolts through John's entire body. Jim's weakening body hitting the floor finally broke through the cold immobility of the blond. He jerked forward almost throwing the gun away from himself and grabbing the sheets off his bed as he knelt by the man who tried to kill him applying pressure on the gun wound to the chest. John's hands were steady despite the terror racing through his body as he pressed down on the hole.

"You fucking piece of shit." Jim said weakly, his entire body shaking in pain and anger. "I'm going to fucking kill you. Do you hear me? I'm going to rip you apart."

"I'm sorry." John said brokenly. "I'm so sorry."

"Fuck you." Jim said as he began coughing up blood. "Fuck…"

John watched in horror as Jim's eyes rolled back up into his head and his body lost all tension. He kept pressure on the wound and was whimpering as tears ran down his cheeks, "sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry..."

He wasn't sure how long he sat there covered in Jim's blood keeping pressure on the wound. Mycroft would tell him later that another team of agents had entered his flat just minutes after the gunshot, but to John it felt like hours. Hours sitting next to the corpse of someone he'd just killed. Murdered. Hours of playing through the event in his head over and over and over again. Wondering why he didn't just knock him out or shoot him somewhere he wouldn't die. Why did he aim for the heart? Why in a place that almost guaranteed that the other boy would die? Fuck. Why would he do that?

He was pushed and prodded down the stairs of his flat and into a waiting vehicle by someone. He wasn't exactly sure who. They were trying to talk to him. Trying to get him to say something, but John couldn't quite focus. Couldn't quite get his body to respond. They covered him in an orange blanket and pressed heat packs against his skin. He was shivering and shaking despite the warmth of the vehicle and his entire body was roiling with panic. He wasn't sure at what point his body decided to rid his stomach of its contents, but luckily someone was there with a bucket and he spent the rest of the ride dry heaving every few minutes.

He was exhausted and ragged by the time he was all but carried into Mycroft's home in London. He was pushed down gently into the window seat in the study and promptly curled up into himself clutching the orange blanket for everything it was worth. He heard people whispering very close by but he couldn't be bothered to actually tune in. he rested his head on the cold glass and stared out onto the dark street feeling nothing but a sort of muted emptiness in his head. Everything felt muffled and soft. Not quite real. Fuzzy.

He held his hands out away from himself. They were dark brown with blood. Stained. Tainted. He hung there in some sort of weird inanimate coma until he felt someone jostle his shoulder and he jerked away and closed in upon himself once more.

"John!" Mycroft's raised voice cut through the muted sounds around him. "John! Look at me!"

John's head felt heavy and wobbly as he shifted to stare at the elder Holmes. Worried. He looked worried. Why? Was Sherlock alright? He had to find out. Had to ask. But his mind kept short circuiting. He couldn't get his mouth to open. Couldn't get his tongue to form the words. All he could do was stare and hope that Mycroft gave him the answer he so desperately wanted.

"John!" Mycroft continued. "Are you alright? Talk to me John!"

John shifted his gaze back down to his bloody hands and held them out in front of them like proof. No, he wasn't alright. But Jim was less alright. Jim was dead and he'd killed him. And he'd gotten angry and shot someone. Right in the heart. He'd murdered someone. Oh, god. He'd murdered, killed, destroyed. He felt something tear its way out of his throat and a rough sob sounded loud in the room as John finally broke down and curled further into himself as the tears fell for the second time that night.

He couldn't remember how he'd gotten into the bathroom, but he found himself standing in front of a mirror staring at his hands and blood spattered face letting his whole body shudder in revulsion at the sight. He frantically tore off the clothes and turned on the shower jumping in despite the ice cold water still pouring from the tap. He shivered wildly until the hot water flowed freely and then he began scrubbing at his skin. Meticulous. He went over every inch of his skin carefully ensuring that it was free of blood or dirt. He stayed under the faucet for hours checking and rechecking his body for blood. He climbed out feeling exhaustion tugging at his awareness. He pulled on a pair of pajamas that had appeared in the bathroom and all but crawled across the hall to Sherlock's bedroom.

Mycroft had cleaned everything up during Sherlock's absence but the chemistry set and books were familiar, comforting. He crawled under the sheets and pushed himself all the way over into the wall. He heard someone open the door and glanced over his shoulder to see Mycroft standing in the doorway.

"John?" Mycroft asked softly. "Are you alright?"

"Tell me." John whispered through abused windpipes. "Where's Sherlock?"

**0000000000000000000**

**I hated writing this chapter. It tore at my insides. **


	30. Chapter 30

Mycroft pulled the door closed quietly behind him and rested his head against the wood trying to ease the headache that had formed several hours ago at the phone call he'd received informing him that the security detail for John Watson, recently downgraded to security status five, had been incapacitated.

He walked slowly down the hallway back towards his office feeling truly exhausted for the first time in years. He collapsed into his office chair and rubbed his temples roughly before pulling out his cell phone.

_Moriarty's dead. Return to London. MH_

He waited only a few seconds before his phone rang.

"If this is some tragic attempt at humor, Mycroft…" Sherlock growled over the line.

"Believe me when I say I don't find this situation in the least bit funny." Mycroft sighed heavily. "My assistant is already making reservations at the nearest airport. Get there and return to my house at once."

"How do we know this isn't just some ploy on his part?" Sherlock said vehemently. "It could be his way of diverting our attention."

"We have his body, Sherlock." Mycroft argued. "It doesn't get much more conclusive than that."

"Your people are extremely incompetent." Sherlock continued. "They couldn't properly identify a body if it was wearing a bloody nametag."

"We have the shooter too." Mycroft said firmly already thoroughly sick of this conversation.

"It wasn't one of your people?" Sherlock asked and Mycroft could finally detect a hint of unease in his voice.

"No. It wasn't." Mycroft answered.

"A rival drug dealer?" Sherlock asked. "Maybe a competitor?"

"I guess you could call him a competitor." Mycroft said darkly. "Though I doubt he would appreciate the comparison."

"Bloody fucking hell!" Sherlock said angrily. "Just tell me what arse shot him!"

"Jim Moriarty broke into the flat of a man tonight and attempted to kill him." Mycroft answered. "We are all very lucky that John was able to wrestle the gun away and fire first."

Mycroft heard Sherlock breathing heavily on the other line but the younger man did not respond.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked hesitantly.

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Sherlock said before hanging up.

000000000000000000000

Sherlock disembarked from the plane and all but ran through the terminal. He spotted Mycroft's car and threw himself into it pulling out his cell as the driver sped off. He dialed John's number for what felt like the thousandth times and cursed loudly as it switched over to voicemail immediately. He didn't even have his phone on. He fidgeted impatiently and leapt out of the car running quickly up the steps to his brother's house.

His entire body was quivering at seeing John again. His John. The man he loved who was almost taken from him. The man he hadn't seen in seven months. He passed through several rooms before stopping abruptly at the doorway to Mycroft's study. And there he was leaning against the window staring out at the trees. Sherlock's entire body flooded with joy and warmth and everything felt right again. He gasped and smiled brightly as he strode across the room. He was inches away from the shorter boy when pain exploded out from his cheek and he stumbled over careening into the chair trying to catch his balance. His entire brain started to fracture as he realized exactly who had just punched him in the face.

"You stupid, selfish, controlling, arrogant, fucking know-it-all!" John shouted at him. Sherlock froze at the tortured, pained expression on his boyfriend's face. He was at a complete loss for what to do. "What in the bloody fucking hell did you fucking think you were doing?"

"John…" Sherlock tried quietly before being shut down against the force of John's rage.

"What was going through that fucking thick skull of yours?" John continued.

"What…" The taller boy tried again.

"On what planet, does it make sense to not tell someone when a fucking psychopath is out and trying to fucking kill them?" John shouted breathing heavily.

Sherlock felt his insides shrivel and he began quivering slightly. He stared agape at John as he paced scarily up and down the length of the room.

"Jim isn't…wasn't your problem, John." Sherlock said firmly. "I didn't want you to have to worry."

"Not my problem!" John yelled loudly. "Not my fucking problem! He became my problem when he broke into my house over two fucking years ago and claimed ownership of you while threatening me!"

"What?" Sherlock asked stupidly unable to think over the painful stammer in his chest.

"Who the fuck do you think told me about you being sent to rehab, genius?" John continued screaming. "That complete psycho was so hot for your arse that he was literally warning me away at every turn!"

"John," Sherlock breathed feeling his face redden. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, that's rich." John answered. "I don't mention events that happened over two bloody years ago and it's my fucking fault. But you withhold the fact that you're chasing your deranged fan around Europe and it's completely fine!"

"That's not what I'm saying…" Sherlock tried. His entire body was shaking and his pulse was beating erratically through his veins. He felt light-headed and sick to his stomach and he didn't know what to do.

"Do you realize how complete fucking stupid I feel?" John shouted. "Honestly, do you? Why the fuck didn't I see it? Of course it was Jim. This whole fucking time. He was right. You might love me, Sherlock, but a completely mad criminal is so much more interesting."

"Don't say that!" Sherlock shouted back. "It wasn't like that!"

"I can't do this!" John said pulling at his hair before striding for the door. "I just can't fucking do this."

He followed the blond down the hall and felt his entire body break out into a cold sweat as John made to leave the house.

"John!" Sherlock called. "It's not safe!"

John whipped around and pinned him where he stood with a glare made a thousand times worse by the glean of tears in his eyes. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Didn't you hear? I'm a killer now."

Sherlock ran for the door and threw himself against it blocking John's way and pulling him close by the shoulders. John fought against him but the taller boy held firm helped by sheer terror and adrenaline. He dragged them to the ground as the fight slowly left John's body.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock sobbed pulling at his boyfriend's jumper trying to drag him closer. "I'm so sorry. I am stupid and selfish and I was wrong. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! But I just wanted to take care of you John!"

He felt John tense against the words and he hurried on, "You always take care of me, John. Always. You always know what to say. You always pick up the pieces of my mess. You take care of me. And I just thought that this time, this one time, I could be like you. I could be brave and I could do something good for you. I could solve this problem for you. So you wouldn't have to put me back together again. So we could be together and I could feel like I've done something good for you. For us. But I was wrong and I'm sorry and it's all my fault. I just wanted to take care of you. I couldn't even do that properly. God, I'm so sorry. Just don't leave. Please don't leave me! I don't know what I'd do…please."

Sherlock finally gained enough leverage to pull John close and hug him properly for the first time in seven months. He drank in the sweet smell of John and relished in the feel of the blond against him terrified that this would be the last time. The last touch. He clung to him too scared to let go. His chest seemed to shatter and his breath hitched painfully as he felt John tentatively run his hand through Sherlock's curls.

"I love you." He said firmly into John's neck, kissing it tentatively. "Please don't leave."

"I'm not going to leave." John whispered softly.

Sherlock felt all of the tension leave his body in a rush and he began shivering with lost adrenaline. They sat crumpled against each other on the landing for several more minutes before he felt John shift awkwardly. He stood quickly and held out his hand to the shorter boy terrified that John would brush away his offer. John took his hand tentatively and followed him up the stairs and into his room. John closed the door behind him and they stared at each other, uncertain for the first time since they met. Sherlock took a few steps towards John scanning his face and body language for any sign of rejection.

He tugged at the hem of John's jumper and felt his heart skip a beat as John lifted his arms slightly so that Sherlock could tug it off. John helped him out of his coat gently before unbuckling his own trousers and letting them fall to his ankles. He stepped out wearing only an undershirt and his pants before crawling into the bed. Sherlock quickly stripped down to the same outfit and slipped in next to him. They lay there staring at each other. Sherlock could feel John searching for something in his face. He felt like he was being broken open and John was rifling through the pieces.

"You look tired." The blond said simply.

"I haven't been sleeping." Sherlock answered. "How are you?"

"I killed someone." John said evenly but Sherlock could feel the shudder that raced through John's body.

"You defended yourself." Sherlock said.

"No." John said firmly. "It wasn't like that. I could have just taken the gun and called the police. Or knocked him out. Or shot him somewhere else. But I didn't. Because of what he said."

"What did he say?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"He said he was going to kill you." John said.

"John…" Sherlock said brokenly.

"Don't." John said. "You're a complete and total idiot. But I love you and I couldn't let him harm you."

"God, this is all my fault." Sherlock sighed.

"Agreed." John said firmly before sighing. "It's not all your fault, but you were a prat. You should have told me."

"I know that now." Sherlock said.

"Don't even tell me that you'll know better for next time because I swear if you ever get another completely barmy admirer with a penchant for bloodshed, I will take Mycroft up on his safehouse offer and let you two duke it out." John replied.

"Do you understand though?" Sherlock asked. "Why I didn't want to tell you?"

"Sherlock…" John sighed. "I understand why you thought it would be a good idea. But based on the outcome, maybe you should leave the discretionary measures to me, huh?"

"Agreed." Sherlock said firmly. He yawned widely and shuffled a little closer to John.

"You're knackered, aren't you?" John asked.

"Extremely." Sherlock said. "Will you stay? While I sleep?"

"Yeah." John answered.

Sherlock pulled John close feeling his body relax quickly at the mere presence of the shorter boy. He leaned forward just centimeters from John's mouth and waited patiently determined to have John make the final move. John leaned forward and placed a hesitant, chaste kiss on his mouth before turning over and shuffling back until his back was nestled against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock let his face burrow into John's neck taking a deep breath. Letting the warmth of John settle his still rattled nerves, he drifted off into a deep, contented sleep for the first time in months.

**0000000000000000000000**

**I hope this helps! Lots of people were like, "Of course Jim is going to go after John! How do Mycroft and Sherlock not understand that!" But they never knew about the extra attention that Jim was throwing John's way. John never told anyone and all the brothers knew was that Jim wanted Sherlock. I hope that makes more sense! If you have any more questions, please feel free to ask! Thanks!**


	31. Chapter 31

John jerked awake covered in a cold sweat from his forehead down to his toes. God, that was awful. He squirmed a bit to extract himself from Sherlock's embrace and climbed over the taller boy almost tripping and landing hard on the carpet. He was shaking slightly as he locked himself in the bathroom and turned on the hot water. He stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt and pants before stepping into the shower letting the scalding hot water wash away the fear and doubt from the nightmare. He knew exactly what was happening. An introductory course to Psychological Disorders saw to that. Post-Traumatic Stress. Made perfect sense. Shoot a bloke. Have terrifying nightmares. It was only fitting.

John didn't even know what time it was. Sherlock had arrived at the manor close to two in the afternoon yesterday and it was dark out now but John had no desire to go back to sleep. He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist before slipping back into Sherlock's room to hunt around for some new clothing in the bag that had shown up for him early yesterday. It was all his own clothing. They must have brought it over from the crime scene. John shied away from those memories and focused on the sound of Sherlock breathing heavily as he got dressed. He crept back out of the room and walked down the hall to the living area and collapsed on the couch grabbing the remote and turning on the telly to at least have something to do. He flipped quickly through the channels and groaned at the infomercials that were irritatingly playing on every single channel. It must be really late. He glanced at the clock and sighed as it told him that yes, it was two in the bloody morning and he had absolutely nothing to do until Sherlock woke up. Sherlock. He still wasn't sure how he felt about yesterday.

He shouldn't have said all of the things he did but he was just so angry and upset and confused. The terrible thing was trying to extrapolate the things that he had meant from the things he hadn't. His heart lurched in his chest at Sherlock's pleading by the front door. He'd looked so lost and frantic. John had never meant to imply that he would actually leave the insufferable git. He'd only wanted some time to think. To process seeing the taller boy again after everything that had happened. He ran his hands roughly over his face in frustration. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn't he just be incandescently happy to see Sherlock again? Why did he feel so angry? This was awful. He felt separate from Sherlock for the first time since they'd gotten together. He couldn't even kiss him properly.

"Fancy some breakfast?" A voice called from behind him causing him to jump in panic.

"Mr. Holmes!" John said stumbling to his feet. "I thought you were in Thailand?"

"Misdirection." Mr. Holmes said simply. "The best way to keep people on their toes. So what do you think?"

"About what?" John asked.

"Breakfast!" Mr. Holmes said again.

"It's two in the morning." John replied.

"Come now, John." Mr. Holmes said. "Look at my sons. Sherlock got his weird sleeping hours from somewhere and Mycroft his appetite from that same place as well. Me. Are you coming or not?"

John felt his mind stutter but nodded dumbly before following the tall man down the hall and to a waiting car. Mr. Holmes spent the entire ride to wherever they were going on the phone making cryptic statements. John shifted awkwardly but remained silent as the suave car made its way quickly through London's streets. They stopped outside of a 24 hour greasy spoon diner. Mr. Holmes snapped his phone shut and motioned for John to exit the car. John felt like a lemming as he followed obediently as Mr. Holmes walked into the restaurant, sat down at a table, and ordered a ridiculously large breakfast for both of them.

"How are you, John?" Mr. Holmes asked politely.

"Fine, sir." John answered.

"Fine?" Mr. Holmes asked raising an eyebrow. "You did just kill a man."

"Well he wasn't a very good man." John shrugged. He almost jumped out of his chair as his dining partner barked out a laugh and slammed his hand down on the table between them.

"You are something, aren't you?" Mr. Holmes said cracking a smile.

"I don't know." John murmured feeling a blush rise to his face.

"I do." Mr. Holmes said firmly. "You're smart and pragmatic but you're compassionate and empathetic as well. Brave, loyal, hard-working. By god, John. I didn't even realize people like you existed."

"People like me?" John asked confused.

"Do you realize how rare it is?" He asked. "To find a good person capable of great things? It's nearly impossible."

"I'm not a good person." John answered.

"Self-deprecation looks good on no one, young man." Mr. Holmes scolded lightly.

"I killed someone." John said by way of explanation.

"But we both know why you did." Mr. Holmes answered. "And despite the fact that, morally, killing is considered reprehensible, to defend the lives of others makes the act preferable to other possible outcomes. You made a choice, John. Given the options in front of you, you chose the outcome with the least amount of suffering."

"It wasn't like that." John protested. "I didn't even think. I just killed him."

"Fascinating." Mr. Holmes said folding his hands together and tucking them under his chin. "You acknowledge the pragmatic necessity of the death but you refuse to acknowledge the moral necessity as well."

"Life's not a scorecard." John said quietly. "He threatened Sherlock, me, your family. I made a choice, but it wasn't a good one. And it certainly isn't negated by the possible pain Jim would have instigated if I didn't kill him."

"I'm not saying it is." Mr. Holmes answered. "I just don't want this choice to weigh so heavily on you that it ruins you."

"Shouldn't it though?" John asked fervently. "Shouldn't taking another person's life karmically ruin the life of the killer? I mean, it should matter and there should be consequences."

"And what consequences would you suggest for yourself?" Mr. Holmes asked curiously. "Prison?"

"I don't know." John answered brokenly. "I'm terrified of being convicted of his death but isn't that justice?"

"No court in the entire country would send you to prison for your actions." Mr. Holmes said firmly. "And I think we both know that Mycroft isn't even going to let it go to court. So what then?"

"Did he have a family?" John asked. "Should I make restitution to them?"

"Come now, John." Mr. Holmes frowned. "Don't disappoint me. It's like your reading from some script. Tell me what _you_ need to do to absolve yourself of this action."

"You shouldn't get absolved of murder." John answered feeling anger lap at his awareness. "My emotional wellbeing is superfluous. It shouldn't factor in to the punishment."

"That's where you're wrong." Mr. Holmes answered. "The only thing I'm concerned about is your emotional well-being. The only thing any of us are concerned about is how you are. We don't blame you for the death of that boy, John. Ask anyone. Me, Mycroft, Sherlock. We don't blame you, despite the blame you are so eager to claim as your own. All of us blame ourselves."

John scoffed and looked down at the floor. "I pulled the trigger."

"And I neglected to inform Mycroft of Jim's faked passport." Mr. Holmes said firmly. "Mycroft erred in changing your security status. Sherlock failed to recognize the threat towards your life. If anything we all share the blame. But even that is questionable. We all played a part in the culmination of Jim Moriarty's death, John but blame is hardly the proper descriptive verb for our actions."

"That doesn't change how I feel about it." John whispered.

They both jerked as the food was laid out in front of them.

"No it doesn't." He replied. "But I'd imagine how you're feeling now is much preferable to how Sherlock would feel if you'd let Jim kill you that night?"

John let that thought percolate in his mind as they tucked into the massive spread of food in front of them. They ate in silence letting the hotcakes and eggs distract them from their negative thoughts. John pushed back his plate after making an impressive dent in his meal. He glanced over at the older man and nearly choked as Mr. Holmes took the final bite of his enormous breakfast with a satisfied huff. Impressive.

"What I did wasn't good." John ventured quietly. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't the right thing to do."

"Exactly." Mr. Holmes said resting his hands on his distended stomach. "Ready to head back?"

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Sherlock jerked awake and felt terror grip his heart as he reached over and felt the cool spot where his John was supposed to be sleeping. He fought against the sheets and tripped on his way up. He glanced around the room and noticed John's clothing had been shifted, altered since the night before. He raced into the bathroom and took in the still the drops of water dispersed lightly against the shower walls and the faint scent of John's shampoo still drifting in the air. He sprinted down the hall to where the telly was and then ran back to take the stairs two at a time as he heard the front door open. He was still racing down the stairs as the blond head poked into view around the door. His entire body swelled with love and he threw himself at the shorter boy latching onto him like a lifeline.

"Sherlock?" John called softly holding the taller boy close. "Are you okay?"

"I thought you'd gone." Sherlock whispered. "John, I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

He pulled back to stare into John's face and felt his heart stutter at the small smile gracing the blond's lovely features. "I think it's time we said hello properly, don't you?"

Without needing any more encouragement, Sherlock tugged John closer stealing his lips and claiming them for his own. John. His John. He held on as long as he could relishing the feel of those soft lips he remembered so well sliding against his own. They kissed hurriedly, hungrily. It had been so long. Too long. Clinging to each other, Sherlock walked backwards towards the staircase pulling John along with him. They tripped and fumbled their way up to Sherlock's room preferring stumbles to having to separate. Slamming the door behind them, Sherlock began ripping John's clothes off needing to feel that golden skin against his own. He shivered as he ran his hands over the smooth plans of John's chest and stomach. John made quick work of Sherlock's shirt and pants and they both gasped as their skin finally made contact. It was familiar and perfect and home. They fell into bed stroking and caressing and kissing every part of each other.

"Please, John." Sherlock gasped as the shorter boy was marking his neck with delicious sucking noises. "I need you in me."

He moaned as John licked a possessive line up his neck before pulling his earlobe into that sinful mouth and nibbling, "Oh god, yes."

He panted as John continued his ministrations back down to his clavicle before tracing wet lines over his nipples and sucking gently. He rolled onto his back so that he could pull his knees up and spread his legs suggestively, sighing as John settled his weight against him and their cocks pressed together hotly. He shivered at John's audible groan as he grinded their hips together.

"God, I missed you." John whispered brokenly against Sherlock's skin.

"I'm so sorry." Sherlock said. "Never again. Never ever again."

"Better not." John said seductively. "I know that you'd never recover if you never had my cock in your arse again."

"That is an accurate statement." Sherlock answered reaching toward his bedside table for lube and a condom. "Now get in me."

John giggled and it sent wonderful jolts of heat through his whole body. Shifting his hips up more, he hissed in pleasure as John pushed his finger against Sherlock's entrance and began pulsing in and out. John deftly opened him gently and Sherlock moaned as the familiar sensation sent throbs of pleasure to his erection. His mind was numb with heat and sensation while his body was sensitive to each caress that John's body provided him. John's fingers in him, his mouth pressing gentle kisses to his knees and thighs, his free hand running over Sherlock's cock. He let out a pathetic whimper as John pulled his fingers out and squirmed needing more contact with the shorter boy's skin. John shifted to hover over Sherlock as he prepared to enter him. Sherlock looked up into those gorgeous eyes and felt his breath disappear. He reached up and ran his hands gently over John's cheekbones before moving to wrap them around John's neck and pull him down into a gentle kiss that had goosebumps skittering across his skin. He pulled back and felt his heart shatter at the smile on his John's face.

"I love you, John." Sherlock whispered.

"And I love you." John answered. "Ready?"

"I've been ready for this for seven months." Sherlock smiled.

"Git." John grinned back.

Sherlock mirrored John's moan as they finally came together in one smooth thrust. His entire body responded and bucked into the feel of John buried deep in him. They kissed messily barely succeeding in anything more than letting their lips brush together as John began thrusting firmly into the taller boy. Sherlock's cock throbbed at the sensation and he felt heat coil in his gut.

"John…oh my god…this is…fuck…this is…" Sherlock mumbled as John moved against and in him in a fast, heated rhythm.

"I know." John breathed. "Fuck, Sherlock. I know…"

He groaned loudly as John shifted his weight allowing him to take Sherlock's hard leaking cock in hand. Sherlock melted into the sensation of John thrusting into him while stroking him in time running his thumb over his slit over and over again. Sherlock began writhing unabashedly and bucking his hips as the pressure and onslaught of impending orgasm raced through his body. He was panting and moaning John's name when his entire vision went white as electricity and heat flooded his body sending pulse after pulse of come onto his chest. He gasped in pleasure as John came into him matching his own aftershocks perfectly as they held each other. They seemed to freeze in a sort of hazy afterglow for several minutes before John shifted to pull out of his body and collapsed on the side of the bed. Sherlock rolled over to help remove the full condom and toss it in the trash. He grabbed a pair of pants and wiped them off quickly before shifting close and draping himself over John's chest. They lay there gasping and stroking each other's skin before Sherlock finally asked the question that had been niggling at his mind since John had punched him the day before.

"We're alright?" Sherlock whispered into the blond's neck. "Aren't we, John?"

"We will be." John said running his hand through Sherlock's sweaty curls.

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**Interactive story time!**

**Alright wonderful readers, let me know: Do you want me to wrap this up with a gooey, fluffy, rainbow-prevalent ending now or do you want me to angst the shit out of it? Let me know!**


	32. Chapter 32

**Alright Everyone! Thank you so much for your input! It was incredibly informative, but sadly it was almost a 50/50 split. Sigh. I really appreciate everyone taking the time to weigh in. I ended up just splitting the middle as best I could. Hope everyone approves.  
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"How exactly did Mycroft manage this?" John asked curiously dropping the last box lightly on the couch.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock said cryptically as he began unpacking his chemistry set.

"Bollocks." John challenged. "There is no way that my roommate just happened to receive a grant to study in Canada hours after you decided to enroll at Oxford."

Sherlock's only reply was to smirk as he set up the pipettes and flasks carefully in the second bedroom of John's flat. John walked over and ran his hand lightly over the fading bruise on the taller boy's cheek. It had only been a week since John had punched Sherlock in the face. It wasn't one of his shiniest moments but he still felt justified. Sherlock seemed to agree considering that the taller boy had been so accommodating lately that it was bordering on creepy. Sherlock leaned into his caress before pivoting to kiss John lightly on the temple.

"Did you want to try to sleep?" Sherlock asked hesitantly.

John felt a pang of frustration in his gut and sighed heavily. Sleeping. God. He hadn't had a proper sleep in days. The nightmares had him up at all hours and he'd never taken so many showers in his life but he couldn't relax covered in cold sweat. At most he was averaging about four hours a night which meant he spent his days exhausted and fuzzy. He slept better with Sherlock wrapped around him but he still was so tired and frustrated that he was constantly on edge. As they'd packed the last box in the moving van at Mycroft's house, the elder Holmes had shoved a bottle of sleeping pills in his hand with a raised eyebrow that stalled any protest John might have made. He walked lightly over to the kitchen table and picked up the bottle glancing at it torn between the need to sleep and the hatred of needing help to do it. He leaned back into Sherlock as the taller boy wrapping his arms around John's waist and left light kisses against the back of his neck.

"You need to sleep." Sherlock whispered. "Those will help."

"I hate the idea of needing medication for something so simple as sleeping." John said twisting around in the taller boy's arms to face him.

"It's only for a little while." Sherlock reassured him. "Everything is still a bit new and raw. You just need a bit of help until everything settles down again."

"The nightmares aren't forever, right?" John asked meekly.

"Of course not." Sherlock answered firmly. "I've done extensive research into the subject over the past few days. They're only temporary."

John looked down at the bottle and sighed again.

"Try to get some sleep." Sherlock said. "When you wake up, we'll prank call Mycroft."

John giggled a bit at the thought. Sherlock had been positively snarky to Mycroft since this whole event went down. Sherlock had repeatedly reamed his elder brother for changing John's security status. He'd even gone so far as to refuse to help Mycroft on any more of his cases. Mycroft took it all in stride and had even confided to John one morning that he preferred Sherlock grumpy and mouthy to not talking to him at all.

"What will you do while I sleep?" John asked.

"I'll stay incredibly busy." Sherlock huffed. "I have to set our living room and my chemistry room to rights."

"You don't want my help?" John asked stalling.

"I want you to try to sleep." Sherlock said firmly.

John growled lightly but popped open the bottle and shook two pills out onto his palm. Sherlock grabbed him a glass of water and kissed him sweetly on the mouth before handing it over. John downed the drugs and turned to walk toward the bedroom. Sherlock followed and watched him strip down to just his pants, he'd been running through too many sets of pajamas lately, and crawl into their bed. He glanced back at his boyfriend and whispered, "You'll wake me? If they get too bad?"

"Of course." Sherlock said. "Sleep well."

"Yeah, I doubt it." John huffed before wrapping himself in the duvet and waiting for the pills to take effect. In minutes, he could feel the drugs dragging him under forcing him into unconsciousness.

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Sherlock stayed in the doorway cataloging everything about John. His breathing. His pallor. The circles under his eyes. After he was satisfied that the pills had worked, he returned to work on unpacking his belongings keeping an ear turned toward the bedroom where John was sleeping. He'd just placed his skull in its honorary spot above the telly when he heard John's phone go in the other room. He quickly stepped over piles of papers and his assortment of lockpicks to get to the mobile before it roused John. He glanced down and felt a flicker of anxiety as he flipped it open and answered.

"Hello, Mrs. Watson." He said. "It's Sherlock."

"Sherlock!" She yelped over the line. "John didn't tell me you'd returned."

"It was a bit of a surprise." He lied easily.

"That explains why he hasn't answered his phone." She sighed. "This is the fifth time I've tried him this week. I was starting to get worried."

"Right." Sherlock replied. "Should I have him call you?"

"Isn't he there?" She asked.

"He's sleeping actually." Sherlock answered.

"But it's nearly lunch time." She said. "Shouldn't he be up by now?"

"He had a bit of a late night." Sherlock said, cringing at the unintended innuendo. "Studying."

"He has been incredibly busy." She sighed. "I was going to pop over to take him to lunch this weekend."

"Why don't I have him call you?" Sherlock said.

"Alright." Mrs. Watson huffed. "Can I ask you a question, Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes but braced himself for the inevitable scolding. "Of course."

"Are you home for good this time?" She asked. "He deserves someone whose there."

"I'm here." Sherlock said firmly. "I'm not going away again."

"My boy is extraordinary." She answered. "He's good and wonderful and worthy of the best kind of love from the best kind of person. If you want to be with him, you have to earn that."

"Where's this coming from, Mrs. Watson?" Sherlock asked curiously. "You've never brought this up before."

"Yes, well." She said. "When my sources inform me that you are moving in with my son, my concern increases a hundred fold. Are you going to answer my question or not?"

"Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock sighed. "Of course."

"She is a dear woman." Mrs. Watson answered. "We've become close over the past year."

"Mrs. Watson," Sherlock said blushing. "I love him. And I know how good and wonderful John is. I'm not perfect but I will never stop trying to be worthy of his love. I don't want you to doubt my feelings and devotion to him."

"Was that terribly difficult for you to admit?" She asked, amusement coloring her words.

"Very." Sherlock growled. "I detest overly emotional displays."

"You are an interesting young man, Sherlock." Mrs. Watson giggled and Sherlock felt his heart swell at the laughter that sounded so much like his John's. "I can see why he likes you. I will be coming this weekend and you will join us for lunch."

"Is that a demand?" He asked curiously.

"Consider them your marching orders." She answered. "I'll see you both on Sunday."

"Yes, Mrs. Watson." Sherlock sighed.

"And have John call me when he wakes up." Mrs. Watson added.

"Of course." He said.

Sherlock set the phone down to perch precariously on a pile of handcuffs and settled on the couch with his laptop to continue work on his website. He should have it up and running in the next week or so. He was absorbed in an IM chat he was having with Lestrade regarding an interesting case that he was working as a beat cop when he heard noise from the bedroom. He shoved his laptop away from himself and maneuvered around the piles nimbly as he made his way to John. He breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the shorter boy stretch languidly having slept soundly for close to nine hours. Sherlock wasted no time in crawling in with him after John had opened one eye and motioned for him. They curled together in the dark bedroom and clung to each other.

"How did you sleep?" Sherlock asked.

"I can't say that I like the pills." John answered evenly. "But at least I got some sleep. What have you been up to?"

"Unpacking and helping Lestrade with a case." Sherlock said running his hands lazily across John's hip.

"A case?" John asked.

"Something about a particular type of coded message in yellow spray paint." Sherlock answered.

"Sounds interesting." John yawned.

"I do believe it might be." Sherlock said.

"Is that what you'll do then?" John grinned. "Consult on cases with the police?"

"Not just consult." Sherlock answered passionately. "I want to be a part of the action. Run down clues and test out theories. I need to be involved. I can't do what Mycroft does and just stand back and let people do the grunt work for me."

"You want to be a private detective then?" John asked.

"Maybe a consulting detective." Sherlock pondered. "That way, when the police are out of their depth, they can call in a professional. Me."

John smiled at the thought. "So what, you'll live in London and chase criminals around the city?"

"No, John." Sherlock scoffed. "We'll live in London together. You'll be some remarkable surgeon and on the weekends chase criminals around the city with me."

John smiled and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "That sounds perfect."

They christened their flat that night with soft kisses and a pair of those handcuffs.

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**THANK YOU ALL FOR READING! You guys have been so great! **

**That's all for now! I'm going to gallop off to get working on the In Vein sequel, To Protect, Exsanguinate, and Defend.**

**You guys are the best!  
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